


as luck would have it

by MyStriderSensesAreTingling



Category: Haikyuu!!, Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Angst, Best Friends, Boys In Love, Crushes, Dirty Jokes, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Idiots in Love, Immediate Attraction, Inspired by Miraculous Ladybug, Iwaizumi Hajime Is So Done, Kuroo wants to punch the wall, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Miraculous Ladybug Love Square, Model Oikawa Tooru, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Partners to Lovers, Pining, They’re SO DUMB, Witty Comments, but in the rex orange county way, but not too much, courtesy of matsuhana, its a guarantee, like real idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 43,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29666208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyStriderSensesAreTingling/pseuds/MyStriderSensesAreTingling
Summary: “Don’t underestimate me, Iwa-chan. I know your secrets.”Hajime did his best to suppress the chill that shot through his spine. Oikawa was peering at him slyly over the rims of his glasses, and Hajime fought back his panic.“Secrets?” He hazarded.“Yeah, like how you drool when you sleep, and the way you put things in front of your lap when you’re trying to hide a boner,” he smirked. “It really just makes it more obvious, you know.”“Shut up, Shittykawa.”He didn’t know he could feel such relief and embarrassment all at once.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Tendou Satori/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 20
Kudos: 58





	1. first impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hajime’s life is suddenly chaos, and he has nothing but his own good nature to blame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. Welcome to this new shitshow I've been working on because I am once again on my Miraculous Ladybug bullshit.  
> This first chapter is like, stupidly long. A lot happens and I didn’t know where to cut it off?? I was going to make this chapter and the next chapter one chapter, but that would have been insanely long, and I wanted to break it up a little. I promise it’s enjoyable, there’s just a lot. I’ve had so many ideas for this in my head and I wanted to get them out as soon as possible. Either way, I really hope you enjoy this because I love iwaoi with all my heart and their dynamic is one of my favorites out of all this Haikyuu ships!

  
Hajime didn’t believe someone could experience two life-changing experiences in one day.

He didn’t believe in a lot of things — things like superheroes, and magic, and aliens, and fate. Things most people didn’t believe in, because thinking about stuff like that was pointless; after all, they weren’t real. 

And yet here he was, in a shower stall in the boy’s locker room, clutching a small box in his hand while the earrings he’d taken from it lay in his ears. He felt like his personal world was going into a disarray, as Kuroo the fucking _kwami_ was trying again to explain to him his new role as the “protector of Tokyo,” whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. Hajime’s side had gotten tender from the amount of times he’d pinched it to ensure he wasn’t dreaming. This didn’t _feel_ real, but it definitely was, and Hajime wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do.

He was usually a pretty surefire kind of guy — dependable, reliable, hard-working. He did his best to help others because he liked to, and because he wanted to make an impact bigger than himself. Even on the volleyball team, which he was recently voted captain of, he did his best to ensure his team was always at the top of their game, even if it meant slowing down so they didn’t push themselves too hard. He usually knew what was best for people even if they tried to hide it, and he did whatever he could to help.

Despite that, he was feeling very _un_ certain about his current situation.

“I’m sorry, but I still don’t get it,” Hajime admitted. “ _I_ was chosen to become the protector of Tokyo? I have to save the city from . . . what did you call them again?”

“Akuma,” Kuroo clarified with exasperation.

“Right, Hakuna Matata,” Hajime nodded, mostly just to mess with him, and Kuroo slapped a hand to his bobblehead-sized face. He was about the size of a Funko Pop figure, red with black spots and enormous yellow eyes. Though he was some sort of immortal being that granted Hajime the powers of the ladybug (again, whatever the hell that meant), and he’d been passed down through multiple users of the miraculous (as Hajime learned the earrings were called), he didn’t seem very pretentious. Rather, he was laid back, mischievous, the kind of personality that would piss Hajime off to no end but could see growing on him.

The kwami had been trying to give Hajime the rundown of his duties as a superhero for the past half hour since he’d put the earrings in while alone in the locker room. Hajime had come to school early hoping to get some serve practice in, and since it was a Monday morning nobody else had arrived to do the same. Besides, today was just for orientation and homeroom — the actual term started the following day, meaning today was probably one of the only days he’d be able to practice in on his own. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like he’d be getting any at all, because he was far too preoccupied with Kuroo giving him a crash course on how to be a superhero.

“You know, I’m starting to question Master’s judgment,” Kuroo frowned. “You must have done something worth recognizing. Otherwise I don’t know why he selected you for this position.”

“Master?” Hajime inquired. “Was that the blind guy whose groceries fell out of his bag?”

It would make sense — he’d slowed before school to help the man across the street when the bottom of his shopping bag broke, even giving him the flannel he’d been wearing as a makeshift bag. When everything was sorted out, the man had thanked him and turned. He had left the box with the earrings in them behind, (on accident, Hajime had thought originally), but by the time Hajime had picked it up and looked around, the man was nowhere to be seen. So instead, Hajime had just taken it to school with him, his curiosity getting the better of him. The box was carved intricately, and looked ancient but well-preserved. When he saw a pair of earrings inside, he was more than a little tempted, and was thankful for the time Hanamaki and Matsukawa had roped him into all three of them getting their ears pierced together. 

But then Kuroo has appeared before him, and Hajime’s entire life had been flipped upside down against his will. He really should have stayed in bed that morning. 

Kuroo shrugged. “Maybe. I wouldn’t know, I was still in those earrings, and I have been for eighty years or so. Damn, it feels good to be out. I wonder what Kenma’s doing?”

“Kenma?” Hajime said hoarsely.

“My partner, who will end up giving the same talk to your partner,” Kuroo explained, grinning. “I’m creation, he’s destruction.”

“I get a partner?” Hajime’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Well, at least he wouldn’t be doing this alone. That was relieving. “Who is it?”

Once again, Kuroo facepalmed. “You’re not supposed to know, dumbass. That’s the whole point of having a secret identity.”

Hajime frowned, but he supposed his new acquaintance was right. “If one of us is compromised, so is the other, right?”

“Ah, so you do have some brains in you!” Kuroo taunted. Hajime frowned at him, midway through a witty retort when he heard footsteps approaching in the hallway outside. Panic flashed in both their eyes as the two stared at one another, freezing. Hajime kept the earrings in, instead hastily unzipping the front pocket of his backpack.

“Get in my bag,” he directed quietly.

“So bossy,” Kuroo snarked, but hastily obeyed nonetheless. No sooner than he had hidden away, the door to the locker room opened and a pair of shoes could be heard swiftly making its way toward the showers. It sounded like whoever was there was slowing down from a run. Probably somebody on the team hoping to squeeze in just a few minutes of practice, or maybe someone who had left something behind. Hajime prepared an excuse as to why he would be standing fully clothed and dry in the stall, while the footsteps came to a squeaking halt of sneakers on tile and the curtain in front of him ruffled.

Hajime quickly realized that the person who had been running was neither of the people he’d speculated them to be. Instead, there stood another boy his age; though he was one Hajime was certain he’d never seen before. He came to this conclusion because he knew he’d remember a boy who looked like _that._ He was lithe, fit, and taller than Hajime. His hair, though slightly disheveled, was shiny considering its brown color and looked soft to the touch. His eyes, which had now made eye contact with Hajime’s, were a warm caramel sort of brown, and they were framed by long, wispy eyelashes.

If Hajime had had any doubts about being a bisexual (which he hadn’t as of a few months ago, though this was a pretty recent development because he’d been questioning for a while), he would have certainly lost them staring at the boy. He looked vaguely familiar, though he couldn’t place from where, and there was no name in his mind that matched to his undeniably pristine face.

“Hey,” he managed, finally remembering to close his mouth. _Smooth, Hajime_ , he thought sardonically to himself. “Um. Hi?”

 _You already greeted him, you fucking idiot_.

“Hi,” the stranger repeated slowly, seeming just as dazed as Hajime felt. “Fancy meeting you here,” his eyes drew up Hajime’s form, taking in his appearance with an amused sort of smile, “fully clothed. And dry. In a shower.”

“Yeah,” Hajime replied dumbly, feeling his face heat up. Any excuse he’d been formulating had been absolutely forgotten. He finally registered that the new boy had been _running_ , and his face was pink with the exhaustion of it, and so he took the opportunity to divert the topic, clearing his throat. “I assume you’re hiding from somebody?”

“Yeah,” the boy nodded, smiling wryly, though there was an air of pretense behind it. “My bodyguard’s after me, and as much as I love my fans, yelling my name and chasing me isn’t helping my situation either.”

Hajime stared at him, waiting for him to laugh at his own shitty joke, but the boy’s nervous expression made Hajime realize he was serious. Sure, he was unfairly gorgeous, but Hajime hadn’t expected him to be _famous._ Was that why he looked vaguely familiar? And what was this about a bodyguard? Fans? The boy was looking at him expectantly, and Hajime wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. He shook his head, blinking any remaining befuddlement out of his eyes while trying to process what was happening.

“I’m sorry, am I supposed to know who you are?”

Now it was the other boy’s turn to be surprised. He stared back at Hajime now, wishing to see if _he_ was joking, and grinning to himself when he realized that he wasn’t.

“Ah, you must be Patrick Star,” the boy said easily. When Hajime didn’t laugh, he elaborated. “Get it? Because you live under a rock.”

Hajime returned his jibe with a blank look.

“That was so unfunny that I’m embarrassed for you,” he said dryly. The boy was stricken momentarily, looking properly offended. Hajime suddenly didn’t care that he was talking to a celebrity — gorgeous and famous or otherwise — because from his sorry attempt at a joke alone, he seemed like a total airhead.

“So mean for a stranger,” the boy stuck his tongue out at him petulantly, and even _that_ looked like it belonged in a magazine. It was infuriating, in a way. The boy quirked a carefully trimmed eyebrow at Hajime and smiled, more genuine now. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Iwaizumi,” he said simply. “Third year. Captain and ace of the volleyball team.”

“Ace, huh?” the boy’s gaze lingered to Hajime’s arms. “That would explain it.”

Though Hajime wasn’t surprised (his arms _were_ his best feature, in his opinion), the boy’s unabashed staring made him feel self-conscious and flustered. The boy didn’t seem to notice, his eyes then trailing to Hajime’s blue jeans and red sneakers. He’d had his flannel before to wear over his white tank top, but after giving it to the blind man earlier, it was all he had on his torso.

“An interesting statement to wear a tank top on your first day of the term, though I can’t say _I’m_ complaining,” the stranger remarked, meeting Hajime’s eyes with another wink. “Your face could do with some fixing, though.”

Hajime sputtered, all thoughts of flattery thrown out the window, because seriously, _what the fuck?_

“Excuse me?!” He scowled. “Your personality could do with some fixing, in my opinion.”

The boys grin only widened in response, displaying two rows of perfectly white teeth.

“Scowling causes wrinkles, Iwa-chan.”

“Iwa-chan?” Hajime wrinkled his nose in disgust, ignoring his statement. “Since when have I told you that you could call me that?”

“You haven’t, but it’s been decided,” the pretty stranger crossed his arms over his chest, leaning on his shoulder against the wall of the shower. He noticed the boy’s outfit seemed just as organized as the rest of him — black denim skinny jeans, white shoes, a pinkish-colored button-up, and a blue jean jacket hanging off his shoulders. He certainly _looked_ like a celebrity — Hajime wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed it earlier.

“How did you expect to sneak into a school dressed like that?” Hajime frowned at him. “You look like you just got off the runway.”

“I’m a model, Iwa-chan, not a criminal,” the boy replied, teasing. “And that outfit of yours is a felony at best, though I suppose I’ll take a few years off your sentence for the eye candy.”

Hajime slapped a hand to his face in annoyance, but mostly to hide the blush coming to his cheeks. He couldn’t believe this guy was flirting with him — and he hadn’t even caught his name yet! The fact that he was a model made sense, though. Despite being increasingly obnoxious and conceited, he was undeniably _very_ nice to look at.

“Here I was thinking you were some child actor, but no,” Hajime raised an eyebrow, unamused. “You’re just a spoiled pretty boy.”

The stranger’s grin widened as he tilted his head to the side, a few strands of hair delicately falling across his forehead. His eyes flashed with mischief.

“So you think I’m pretty?”

Hajime desperately fought down a blush.

“You’re a model, which means it’s in your job description to be attractive. It’s a fact, not a compliment,” he rolled his eyes.

“You flatter me, Iwa-chan,” the boy chuckled, clearly just as unconvinced as Hajime was of his own excuse. He extended a hand professionally, a sly smile on his face. “My name is Tooru Oikawa, main model of Pavilion and son of Otohiko Oikawa. I’m sure you’ve heard of him, at least?”

Hajime shook his head as he begrudgingly shook Oikawa’s hand. The brand Pavilion was familiar, though — they were a designer clothing brand that was mostly popular among teens and young adults. He’d gotten a suit from there once, but he wasn’t going to let Oikawa know that. Oikawa sighed at his response, a grim look on his face.

“Yeah, I should have figured, if your outfit had anything to say about it.”

Hajime had the sudden urge to punch him, but settled for kicking him in this shin. Not hard enough to bruise, or even hurt that much, but Oikawa winced nonetheless, letting out a startled yelp. He was about to spout something in a retort, but his lips froze in a pout as the warning bell sounded from above. They made eye contact, both realizing that Oikawa had limited time to escape before school started and other students would enter the locker rooms.

“You’re obnoxious,” Hajime told him, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I’ve got about five minutes to get to class, and you’ve got about five minutes to get your ass out of here before a shitload of first year boys run in here for gym.” He paused, eyebrows raising in bewilderment. “Do you even go here?”

Oikawa seemed nervous now, shuffling from foot to foot.

“Well, I needed to get away from my bodyguard, so—”

“So you _snuck into a school?”_ Hajime gaped at him. “First of all, what the fuck? Second of all, that’s reckless! If it were anyone else in here you’d have been caught!”

“Hush, Iwa-chan. You sound like my dad,” Oikawa pouted at him again. “Besides, I’m not an officially student _yet_ , but I’ll be attending here starting tomorrow. I wanted to scope out the premises.”

Breaking into a school on the means of “scoping out the premises” was not something the school board would agree with, and Hajime felt like a criminal just standing here and talking to Oikawa for so long. Technically, he _was_ trespassing. Damn these rich kids, thinking they can get away with everything. Oikawa acted like he was untouchable, if his response to Hajime’s kick was any proof of it.He seemed surprised he’d _dared_ to do such a thing, while Hajime was surprised he hadn’t done it sooner.

“Just when I thought my week couldn’t get any worse,” Hajime groveled. Oikawa shot him an amused look before responding, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“I like you, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime jumped, startled at the blunt statement. His face was certainly flushing as he stared back at Oikawa’s sickeningly graceful features. “Huh?!”

“No, not like that,” Oikawa teased, waving his hand dismissively. “Most people don’t have the nerve to insult me upon our first meeting. In my book, that makes you interesting and well-worth my friendship.”

Hajime couldn’t help but scowl. “I don’t give a fuck about your book. I’ve got class, and you’ve got to go.” He brushed by Oikawa and pointed to a door at the back of the locker rooms. “That door goes out to the track field. If you take a left you should be able to hide behind the dumpsters or something in case someone’s out there.” He looked disdainfully after Oikawa’s sneakers. “And God forbid you get mud on your blindingly white shoes.”

“So considerate, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa offered him a gracious smile, and this time it seemed to be genuine. It made Hajime’s heart do a little flutter in his chest, and he scolded himself internally for it. Oikawa walked toward him, shrugging his jacket off his shoulders, and taking Hajime by surprise by handing it to him. “Here — it might be tight around the arms, but it’s something. One, to help redeem your felony-outfit, two, in case you get cold.”

Hajime really didn’t have time to argue — he had three minutes to get to class — so he took it with a rushed “thank you?” Oikawa nodded in response, that same smile still on his face.

“Sure,” he nodded. With a devious glint in his eye, he added, “oh, and if you get it dirty, it’ll be 7000 yen to dry clean, so watch yourself!”

Before Hajime could reply, he ran off with a wave, not bothering to close the door softly behind him. When he was alone again, the sound of a zipper coming undone reminded him that Kuroo had been in his bag the entire time. His face flushed red in a mix of fury and embarrassment as he numbly held Oikawa’s exorbitant jean jacket in the emptiness of the locker room. 

“Oooo, you like him, don’t you?” Kuroo sing-songed from behind him.

“Shut the fuck up, Kuroo,” Hajime muttered. “And zip yourself back in. I’ve gotta get to class.”

“I knew it!”

“I said shut up,” Hajime grumbled irritably, walking as quickly yet inconspicuously as possible out of the locker room to get to his class, which was on the third floor, damn it. The typical crowd of students had thinned out due to it being so close to the bell, so he took liberty in sprinting the entire way, managing to sling Oikawa’s jacket on one shoulder while keeping his backpack on the other.

He stepped through the door as the bell rang, panting, nearly crashing into Matsukawa, who was standing beside his desk near the window.

“Got carried away with serving practice, huh?”

The one who asked was Hanamaki, who was almost always nearby when it came to Matsukawa. They were practically inseparable — one didn’t come without the other. The two of them were also on the team, and all three of them had been since their first year at Seijou. Usually, the two of them would join him, but Monday mornings were Monday mornings, and so they wanted to savor their time in bed as much as possible before the week started, just like any other reasonable person.

“Whose jacket is that?” Matsukawa asked, pointing. Hajime set his bag down at his desk by the window and slung the jacket around his other arm without answering. It was a tight fit, but it wasn’t much of a stretch. It must have been big on Oikawa, though Hajime hadn’t noticed. Clearly he’d been too preoccupied with holding himself back from punching his infuriatingly perfect face.

“Long story,” Hajime replied, hoping the teacher would arrive so he didn’t have to tell it. Hanamaki whistled.

“Oh? So you weren’t doing serving practice, were you?” He wiggled his eyebrows, and Hajime responded by crossing his arms on his desk and burying his face into them. Hanamaki laughed, as if this were answer enough.

“Get caught up with somebody?” Matsukawa teased, joining Hanamaki in front of Hajime’s desk with an equally suggestive grin.

“You could say that,” Hajime muttered vaguely, hyperaware of the kwami in his backpack. The realization that he’d have to keep this huge secret from his friends struck him, and he pursed his lips. Hajime had many traits, and these traits admittedly would make him a good candidate for a superhero; perseverance, honesty, quick-thinking, courage, self-sacrifice. But being an honest person therefore made him a terrible liar, and his two best friends in particular saw through him almost every time he tried.

“So are you going to elaborate, or leave us hanging?” Hanamaki leaned in, and Hajime let out a sigh. Telling them about Oikawa wouldn’t hurt. It was a solid enough excuse that he wouldn’t have to admit to the fact he’d somehow obtained a magical acquaintance on the way to school, as well as all the responsibility that came with him.

“I met this asshole in the locker room — he ran into my shower stall — said he was starting here tomorrow but snuck in to check it out,” Hajime shrugged. “Apparently he’s a model, or something—”

Hanamaki slapped a hand to his mouth, eyes shooting wide open. “No way.”

Hajime raised an eyebrow. “No way what?”

But Hanamaki and Matsukawa were exchanging equally shocked looks with one another. Before Hajime could ask what they were making a big deal about, their teacher entered the room, and the boys begrudgingly had to return to their seats in the row behind Hajime. The sunlight streamed in through the window beside his desk, and their teacher’s voice faded into the background as he stared outside at the field. Oikawa was probably long gone now, so Hajime wasn’t sure why he was even looking, but he checked anyway just to make sure. He didn’t catch any obnoxiously bouncy hair, or a pair of expensive white shoes, so he figured he must have left already.

He felt a long finger poke his back, and rolled his eyes as he looked behind himself under the guise of resting his head on his hand.

“You met Tooru Oikawa?” Matsukawa whispered.

“In an empty shower stall?” Hanamaki added.

“Were you naked?”

“Was _he_ naked?”

“No! What the hell?” Hajime hissed and went red at the thought of being naked in that situation, and trying desperately not to picture Oikawa naked himself. “How’d you even know it was him anyway?”

Their teacher stopped talking momentarily, and Hajime averted his eyes to the front as smoothly as possible. Luckily, he didn’t seem to be paying attention to their conversation. Instead, their teacher was shuffling some papers on his desk and handing them to a boy in the front row — Sawamura, also on the team — to give out. The class fell into a soft buzz of chatter while he did, and Hajime returned to his conversation with his two best friends behind him.

“Ushi wouldn’t shut up about it when Ikumi and Kotono came in yelling about how they swore they saw him run into the building,” Matsukawa explained, voice still quiet. “We thought they were just spreading shit, as usual, but if you saw him, then they must have been telling the truth.”

Hajime raised an eyebrow, flicking his eyes to the back corner of the room, where Ushijima sat beside Tendou, the former blinking dubiously at the latter, who was laughing. “What does Ushijima have to do with Oikawa?”

Ushijima was supposed to be the actual captain and ace of the volleyball team, until he quit at the end of last year to play for Japan. Hajime had been a substitute beforehand — he was better than good, but Ushijima was something else entirely — but the team trusted his dependability and leadership, and so he’d been made captain as a result. Their best middle blocker, Tendou, quit as well, because most of his joy in volleyball seemed to be derived from playing with Ushijima. They were also down a setter because he graduated the previous year. They had reserves, of course, but they weren’t as good as the original starters compared to Hajime.

He realized he’d have a lot of work to do come tryouts tomorrow, and he was desperately hoping for another talented player. However, he reminded himself to stay present, and instead of worrying he remembered to actually listen to the answer of the question he’d just asked.

“Apparently their families are good friends, or something,” Hanamaki was saying. “Dunno how, exactly. But they’re both pretty famous, and it’s a small world.”

Hajime couldn’t really see the two of them getting along. Where Ushijima was stoic and reliable, Oikawa was flamboyant and impetuous. Then again, Ushijima had a high tolerance for such people, considering his best friend was Tendou Satori. Maybe he could take Oikawa’s Pretty Boy Bullshit™ better than Hajime could.

Ushijima’s father was a professional athlete until an injury forced him to retire, and his mother was also a fashion designer. Despite being rich and famous (as well as extremely talented), Ushijima mostly kept to himself, really only letting Tendou into his little bubble despite the amount of people that tried to approach him. Hajime liked to think Ushijima liked him better than most other people — they held conversations with one another and if Ushijima needed something Tendou couldn’t help him with, his go-to person was Hajime. He was a good guy — a bit too honest, in Hajime’s opinion, but he always meant well. Again, he could hardly see the boy getting along with an asshole like Oikawa, pretty or not.

Then again, Hajime had a feeling Oikawa hadn’t shown him everything in their first meeting. Maybe it was a celebrity thing, or maybe it was an Oikawa thing. Besides the spare few moments of genuineness, Oikawa had mostly centered the conversation on Hajime, not really talking much about himself besides his name and profession. Now that Hajime had time to catch up and think about it, it was obvious that Oikawa was diverting the conversation on purpose. It was something Hajime would have normally noticed while it happened, but he’d been distracted by Oikawa’s sudden appearance in addition to the new superhero responsibilities swimming around in his head.

He realized he’d forgotten to reply, but by then all the papers had been passed out, and the room has fallen into silence again. Hajime recognized the sheet on his desk as a schedule, and again, zoned out as their teacher went over it. He had too many other things on his mind, like the fact that he’d been chosen to be a fucking protector of Tokyo.

Kuroo hadn’t been able to get into everything in the limited time that they’d had, but Hajime was sort of glad for this. It gave him enough time to process everything during orientation. He hoped Matsukawa and Hanamaki didn’t mind his uncharacteristic silence, but the two of them were distracted taking turns kicking some poor first year’s chair and seeing how long it would take him to notice. Hajime was struck with an inclination of duty that felt half-hearted and meek. He really _should_ stop them, superhero or not, but if it was providing a distraction for him to sit alone with his thoughts, then maybe that first year would have to suffer momentarily for the sake of mankind. 

He still wasn’t sure why he’d been chosen for this job. Sure, he liked to do the right thing, he had a properly aligned moral compass, but so did lots of people. He certainly wasn’t pure of heart or dauntingly brave or anything like that. In fact, there was nothing about him that made him that special, or worth handing a miraculous to. Anybody could have helped that blind man on the street, and it boggled Hajime’s mind to think that someone else could have been just as easily put in his very same position.

But of course, it had been him that was there, in that time and that place, that had decided to help. It wasn’t fate — just a poorly-timed coincidence. There were probably people out there much better suited to fighting crime and Hakuna-Matatas (akumas, he reminded himself) than he thought he’d ever be. It was a very real possibility that he wouldn’t be able to even take down one, and he’d let the entire city down in one day.

By the way Kuroo described them, they sounded even more dangerous than your typical villain. A normal person driven to villainy by negative emotions and enhanced superpowers. The akumatized person could end up being any one of the people sitting in the auditorium with him now — even Matsukawa and Hanamaki. Even “untouchable” Oikawa. Even his own _parents._

Even himself, if he wasn’t careful. That would be even more dangerous, because he’d know about his own miraculous, and Kuroo wouldn’t be able to stop him if he used his power for evil. He shuddered at the thought, subconsciously pulling Oikawa’s jacket tighter around him. It smelled like green tea and mint, which was an odd combination but was soothing nonetheless. He felt a bit odd himself, being reassured by a piece of clothing, but nobody had to know about it but him.

The threat of the villain that controlled said akumas loomed over him as he did his best to at least look like he was paying attention to orientation. They hadn’t started their attacks yet, but Kuroo had mentioned that the “Master” of the miraculous’, as well as the kwamis themselves, had felt the Butterfly miraculous activate after years of thinking it had been destroyed, along with the Peacock miraculous. That one had yet to activate, but given that the Butterfly had been activated a week ago, Hajime could expect an attack any day now. The idea made him tense, because he wasn’t prepared in the slightest.

He relaxed slightly as he remembered Kuroo had mentioned a partner — the destruction to Hajime’s creation. The power of their two miraculous’ combined grants the user absolute power, and though Kuroo himself wasn’t even sure what that meant, it definitely didn’t sound good in the wrong hands. He hoped his partner was at least slightly more capable than he was — otherwise they’d both go down _fast_ and take all of Tokyo with them. What would they be like? He wasn’t worried about getting along with them — he got along with most people, insufferable or otherwise. When would they meet? And under what circumstances? What would they go by? Shit, what would _he_ go by?

Ladybug was too feminine for his taste, and he didn’t feel like it suited his muscular build. Redwing? No, that was a shoe brand. Red Beetle? That just sounded stupid. Beetle Boy? He almost laughed aloud at that one. What were some characteristics of ladybugs? Small insects, six legs, black spots on red wings . . . 

Blackspot?

That didn’t sound too bad.

Blackspot it was, then. Or, at least until his prosaic mind came up with something better. Why had he been gifted with a power concerning creativity? He couldn’t even come up with his own name. He didn’t know if there was even a creative bone in his body.

They were _fucked._  
  


*/**.__.**\\*

“What were you moping around in there for?”

Kuroo poked his head out of the top of Oikawa’s jacket pocket as soon as he’d separated from Hanamaki and Matsukawa to head home. Hajime scowled in response, not looking at him so as not to draw attention to the kwami in his hoodie. He wasn’t even sure how the little fucker had gotten there.

“I wasn’t moping,” he muttered under his breath. “And get back into my bag! You can be seen! You’d think having been at this since the beginning of time or whatever you’d be better at hiding.”

“The street’s practically empty,” Kuroo said pointedly. Though what he was saying was true, Hajime didn’t want to risk it. Kuroo cleared his throat before he could protest, though, and continued to speak. “And you didn’t answer my question. I was watching you the whole time. Orientations are so boring. You seemed distressed.”

“I don’t know, I’m just nervous, okay?” Hajime admitted with a considerable amount of difficulty. “Getting thrown into becoming a superhero wasn’t on my to-do list for today, or ever, and all this magic crap is a lot to process on top of the responsibility. I’m honestly surprised I haven’t gone into shock yet.” He huffed out an exhale, brushing his hair back roughly. “Truth is, I _am_ distressed. I mean, what if I’m not good enough? What if I fail? Shit, I probably will fail. What’ll I do when innocent people get hurt because I wasn’t good enough? How am I supposed to look people in the eye without telling them they’re in danger?”

At the end of his rant, Kuroo was silent. There was no teasing remark, no witty comment, and Hajime was breathing heavily, glad he’d gotten it out of his system. Though he hadn’t raised his voice much, he looked around to see if anyone had heard, but there was nobody around but a few cars driving on the street beside him.

“It’s okay to have doubts, you know,” Kuroo spoke up, tone entirely serious. “I’d honestly be scared if you _didn’t_ have doubts. Nobody expects you to be perfect on the first try — I’ll be here to help you through it, and so will your partner. Don’t worry about all that ‘not being worthy enough’ bullshit. Worrying about the people you _can’t_ help is the kind of protectiveness the world needs in a hero. I take back what I said earlier — Master’s judgement was a good one.”

When Hajime hazarded looking down, Kuroo was smiling encouragingly up at him.The advice was reassuring, and so Hajime smiled back down at him quickly before looking back up.

“Thanks, Kuroo.”

“Sure thing.”

He was almost at his house now, which was above the bakery his family owned. The after-school rush was yet to come — his peers usually went home to change before they went to get pastries, but sometimes Hajime would have a small crowd following him home on days where there were special deals involved. Hajime wasn’t an official employee of the bakery — his mother paying him to work was sort of counterproductive, as most of the money he spent was theirs anyway — but he did help out when he had the chance. Both because he liked to bake, and because he liked helping his parents when he could. It was a small bakery, but it had a good reputation, so there were a few other employees other than his mom and himself, including Sugawara, who didn’t play but often came to watch practices and give advice. He worked on Wednesdays and Thursdays after school, as well as Sunday mornings, and though they weren’t exactly close friends, Hajime enjoyed his company.

“Welcome back, Hajime,” his mother greeted him, currently restocking the display case with pastries. “It feels like I just saw you.”

“Well, you did,” Hajime sent her an unimpressed look, but she only chuckled in response. When she stood straight and got a better look at him, her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Whose jacket is that? The sleeves look too tight for you. What happened to the flannel you left with?”

Hajime explained what had happened with the blind man earlier that day, pointedly leaving out the part about the earrings. He pushed in some of the chairs around the tables in the bakery as he moved by them to give himself an excuse not to look his mother in the eye as he told the story. Again, he was hyperaware of Kuroo nested in his front pocket and was trying to get upstairs as quickly as possible.

“A friend gave me this because he said I looked cold,” Hajime said, gesturing vaguely to the jacket as he tucked the final chair in. He decided telling her the whole incident with Oikawa would take too long, and would raise too many questions. He was turning to head upstairs when he added, “I’ll be back down in a second — apparently it’s expensive, so I need to go change.”

He walked up the stairs, turning the corner and letting out a sigh of relief. He walked up another set before he pushed open the trapdoor leading to his attic bedroom. As soon as Hajime closed it softly behind him, Kuroo sprang out of the jacket, a wicked grin on his face.

“Your _friend_ , huh?” Kuroo wiggled his tiny eyebrows. 

“Shut up, you know I only said that because it would be easier than explaining,” Hajime scowled at him. He shrugged Oikawa’s jacket off and hung it neatly over the back of his chair. He then pulled off his tank top, tossing it into the hamper and selecting a black one from his closet. When he turned around to put it on, Kuroo was gaping at him.

“Holy shit,” his kwami was openly staring at his torso. “You’re ripped _everywhere_.”

Hajime flushed and tossed on his tanktop, glaring at Kuroo as he walked by.

“I can’t believe I’ve been sexually harassed by two assholes in one day now,” he picked up Oikawa’s jacket from the chair and put it on a hanger.

“I wasn’t sexually harassing you, I was making an observation,” Kuroo said boredly. “My magic gives you superhuman strength, speed, and agility, but of course, the abs help fit the image.”

Hajime groaned. “Shut up,” he paused before he opened the door, turning back to his kwami. “Don’t I have to feed you, or something?”

Kuroo made a face. “I’m a kwami, not a dog. And that’s only after you transform — it helps me recharge. Of course, food in between helps too.”

“I hope you like bread,” Hajime said, because there really was no other option.

“I’ll eat pretty much anything, but my favorite is grilled mackerel pike,” Kuroo licked his lips, and Hajime made a disgusted noise.

“Yeah, absolutely not,” he replied. “Maybe on special occasions, but I’d rather not smell like fish all the time because of you.”

“So cruel, after everything I do for you.” 

Hajime didn’t add a comment in response, instead gesturing for Kuroo to hide in the pocket of dark green apron he took off the wall. Thankfully, his kwami obeyed without protest and Hajime prepared himself for his next shift. A ringing sounded from downstairs, Hajime recognizing the sound as the bakery phone. People called it for catering or delivery, or just to order in advance.

“Just in time,” he muttered to himself. His mother waved him down when he rounded the corner so she could dash off to answer the phone. He smiled warmly at her, hoping he was encouraging enough that she didn’t feel guilty leaving the shift to him. The other employees wouldn’t be here for another hour, so he and his mom had to handle the shift by themselves for the time being. Usually his father would help out too, but he was working his editorial job several blocks away.

His mother smiled back at him gratefully as she rounded the corner, mouthing a thank you before disappearing. A distant “hello, Iwaizumi Bakery speaking!” could be heard from the other room, and Hajime settled into his shift.

After all of the crazy shit that happened to him that day, it was nice to have something familiar to come home to. Most people didn’t believe Hajime liked to bake, but it was oddly therapeutic — almost just as therapeutic as smacking the ball down for a good spike, or hitting a jump serve and hearing it slam down on the other side. Hanamaki and Matsukawa liked to call him the “perfect housewife,” because he’d been cooking for and cleaning up after people for years, so he’d gotten good at domestic activities. Hajime would usually say something like “marry me, then,” and Hanamaki would reply with, “no. Matsukawa has the better eyebrows.”

The bell chimed to signal a customer had arrived. When Hajime looked to see who it was, it turned out to be two people. Both sharply dressed, one familiar, and one not. The man was broad-shouldered, his stare just as sharp as the suit jacket he wore. His greying, dark hair was slicked back and crisp, and a pair of rectangular glasses sat on a large nose. He seemed displeased about something, while the other was trying to cheer him up.

“You really need to get out more, you know,” said the woman, who was approaching the register. Hajime thankfully knew her — Ushijima’s mother. She was a bit of an intimidating woman at first: slender, graceful, piercing sort of gaze, and very pretty features. Her dark hair was chopped in a fashionably asymmetrical bob; Hajime only knew it was fashionable because nobody else could pull it off like her. She shared some similarities with her son, like the sharp jaw and the murky green eyes. She smiled brightly when she saw Hajime standing at the counter, waving like they were old friends.

“Hajime-kun! It’s been so long!”

Hajime chuckled, eased by her presence where the other man had set him on edge. “I saw you last week, Ushijima-san.”

“Too long,” she shook her head anyway. “Don’t mind my friend here, he’s a bit people shy.”

He was watching the exchange carefully through his glasses, his gaze both scrutinizing and guarded. Hajime tried to swallow without making it show that he was intimidated.

“That’s alright,” Hajime smiled anyway, offering his hand. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

“And you,” the man grunted, his voice deep. His hands were surprisingly smooth compared to Hajime’s, which were rough and calloused from volleyball and working.

“This is Wakatoshi’s old teammate. He’s taking over as the ace and the captain. He works really hard for his team — he has since first year, actually.”

Hajime flushed. “Thank you. I just want us to be our best.”

“A good goal,” the stranger spoke up, and Hajime nodded.

“Thank you,” he agreed. He turned back to Ushijima’s mother, eager to stop making eye contact with the other man. “We’ll miss having Wakatoshi on our team this year, but I’m glad he’s playing for Japan. He’s amazing, and he works so hard to be the best version of himself. He definitely deserves it.”

“Thank you,” she pursed her lips, sighing. “I didn’t want him to go at first — I’m afraid he might push himself too hard. Satori’s been indulging him too much; sometimes I wake up early in the morning to hear them already at it in the gym. I’m scared Wakatoshi’s gonna take the poor boy’s fingers off.”

Hajime laughed. “It’ll take a lot more than that to get Tendou. And even if he did lose a finger he’d still insist he can block,” at the amused look on Ushijima’s mother’s face, Hajime smiled. “You know what they say — if you’re obsessed with volleyball, get yourself a best friend that’s also obsessed with volleyball.”

She chuckled at this. “I’m happy they have each other.” She paused to look at the display case, a thoughtful expression on her face. “That lemon bread looks awfully appealing right about now. I’ll take a loaf of that, please.”

“Of course,” Hajime put this into the register and then looked at the other man expectantly. “Anything for you, sir?”

“Not today, thank you,” he said politely, though he sounded stiff. Maybe he was just awkward.

“Alright then,”Hajime nodded, printing the receipt and handing it to Ushijima’s mother. “I’ll get that for you. Your total is 400 yen.”

“Thank you, Hajime-kun,” Ushijima’s mother opened her wallet (that probably cost more than whatever was in Hajime’s own) and pulled out the cash while Hajime fetched her a loaf of lemon bread. They made the exchange, and she waved Hajime goodbye as he waved back with one hand and put the money away in the other. Her friend (whose name Hajime still didn’t know) followed behind her. After the bell chimed shut, his mother came back around the corner, looking mildly perturbed. She’d gotten off the phone a while ago, and had probably been waiting for Ushijima’s mother to leave. 

“I still don’t understand why you dislike her so much,” Hajime wrinkled his nose at his own mom. “She’s a nice woman.”

“Don’t you remember how she talked to you when her son was a starter?” His mother said snappily. “So patronizing.”

Hajime raised an eyebrow, amused. “You’re making that up, ma. She’s really just a nice lady.”

“Hmph,” his mother humphed indignantly. “Go be her son then if she’s so nice.”

Hajime rolled his eyes. “Please, mom. You know I’d never replace you. Who else would force me to do manual labor in her own shop?”

“I do not force you!”

“I know, ma, I was teasing.” 

The rest of the day passed without much event, and when Hajime laid in bed that night, it took him a while to fall asleep. Gaining a kwami and experiencing all that was Tooru Oikawa in one day surely was a draining experience — two activities that certainly shouldn’t be done within 24 hours of each other. Kuroo perched himself on the top of Hajime’s pillow, like a cat, and it was his soft snoring that eventually lulled Hajime to take a well-deserved rest.  


*/**.__.**\\*

The next day at school, Hajime was initially taken surprise by the amount of girls surrounding his locker, until he noticed the familiar brown quiffs floating above them. He scowled to himself, wishing he had something to throw at the back of Oikawa’s head while he wasn’t paying attention.

“Oi, Shittykawa,” he settled for instead. This gained the other boy’s attention instantly, and it might have been Hajime’s imagination, but Oikawa seemed to perk up. His brown eyes widened as they met Hajime’s, and his smile seemed uncertain at first before it spread to his usual teasing grin. Hajime noticed his smile was guarded again, insincere, and he was looking at Hajime differently than he had the previous day. Was it because of the group of girls he’d attracted? Maybe he didn’t want to seem like he knew Hajime — after all, he was a model and Hajime was just Hajime—

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa replied in a sing-song voice, quelling his thoughts. He excused himself from the group of girls, who were looking between themselves, Oikawa, and Hajime before turning and walking away, giggling. Meanwhile, Oikawa came closer to him, now dressed in a proper Seijou uniform, like Hajime was. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again!”

“You . . . have?” Hajime raised an eyebrow. He was annoyed by the little trill of joy at the confirmation that Oikawa wanted to talk to him again. He also didn’t fail to notice the fact that Oikawa just walked away from a group of admirers to talk to him.

“Of course I have! Who else would I antagonize in the earlier hours of the morning by making them give me a tour? Plus, you still have my jacket.”

Or, maybe Oikawa just wanted to push his buttons.

“Your uniform’s all messed up,” Oikawa frowned at his appearance, taking in his halfway-done tie with a grimace. Hajime’s breath caught in his throat as Oikawa reached up with nimble fingers to undo it, then proceeding to tie it properly with a look of mild concentration. “You’d think after attending this school for two years you’d know how to wear it better than I do.”

Hajime’s sense of self-preservation only kicked in after Oikawa finished fixing his tie, in which his hand smacked Oikawa’s away when he pushed the knot too close to his throat. Hajime loosened it to the point where it didn’t feel like a noose, and Oikawa clicked his tongue disapprovingly. His eyes kept flitting down to the hem of Hajime’s dress shirt, which was untucked and hung outside of his pants on one side.

“I was in a rush — I just came from the gym,” Hajime rolled his eyes, opening his bag and procuring the other boy’s jacket, handing it to him with a scowl. “And here’s your jacket, asshole.”

Hajime shoved it at him irritably, and Oikawa took it from him, appearing almost hesitant at first.

“Spotless, as I expected, but you folded it so nicely too!” Oikawa beamed at the jacket before sliding it into his locker. He sent Hajime a saintly smile as he added, “I didn’t foresee such tidiness from a brute like you!”

Hajime fought back the urge to strangle him.

This took a considerable amount of effort; his eye twitched and he only let out a low sort of growl in response. His fingers flexed at his sides. Oikawa noticed this, because his smile quickly turned into a smirk.

“I appreciate you restraining yourself, Iwa-chan,” he sang. “Can’t have you mauling my delicate form on my first day.”

“For fuck’s sake, stop calling me that.” Before certain people in particular hear—

“Iwa-chan?” Matsukawa seemed to materialize behind Oikawa out of thin air, as if to spite Hajime’s thoughts.

“You never let us call you Iwa-chan,” Hanamaki soon followed, rolling his eyes.

“Now look what you’ve done,” Hajime huffed at Oikawa in annoyance. The other boy only shrugged, grin widening.

“What can I say? ‘Iwaizumi’ is a mouthful.”

Matsukawa snickered behind his hand, and Hanamaki joined him in an even more obvious laugh. Hajime suddenly realized what they were laughing at, and so did Oikawa, because they simultaneously turned to glare at the laughing pair. Hajime was pleased that Oikawa at least had the decency to be embarrassed — his face was red all the way up to his ears.

“Now that’s a first impression,” Hanamaki jibed, and Matsukawa only laughed louder, much to Hajime’s horror.

“Yeah, I’m sure he was a mouthful in the _empty locker room_ yesterday—”

“Shut up!” Hajime smacked a hand to his own face, and he thought he could hear Kuroo laughing in his backpack. His entire body felt hot with embarrassment, all while his two traitors of best friends (and possibly his kwami) laughed at his expense. Oikawa, though thoroughly red, seemed to have recovered, raising an eyebrow at Hajime in amusement.

“You talked about me?” He queried.

“Duh,” Hajime looked at him, nonplussed. “You dragged my appearance, called me by a stupid nickname, and expected me _not_ to immediately tarnish your reputation?”

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa looked horror-struck, completely disregarding the part about the nickname. “What did you do?!”

“He told everybody that you told him you can’t swim,” Hanamaki drawled.

“And he also said you gave him your jacket because you wanted to jerk off to the smell of him on it later,” Matsukawa laughed evilly, and Hajime’s hands twitched at his sides.The only thing stopping him from tackling the boy to the ground was the fact that Oikawa looked just as mortified as he felt. Hopefully, Oikawa knew Hajime hadn’t said either of his things, and that his best friends were trying to kill him in cold blood.

“Matsukawa, I’m going to strangle you!”

“You won’t, because we’d be down _two_ middle blockers,” Matsukawa replied coolly, grinning. “Then we’d be really screwed.”

“Have room for a setter?”

Hajime stared at Oikawa in surprise. The blush was receding from his cheeks, and he seemed to be asking genuinely.

“You play, pretty boy?” Hanamaki quirked an eyebrow. Oikawa nodded. Hajime wasn’t sure if this was a blessing or a curse. He decided, for the time being, on a blessing.

“Why didn’t you say so?” Hajime asked, both glad for the change of conversation and for his luck. “We need a setter. Our reserve is a second year and our last resort is Sawamura bribing Sugawara to join the team.”

“Count me in, then,” Oikawa grinned. “When are tryouts?”

“Today after school,” Matsukawa replied. “We’ll walk with you.”

“Really? Awesome!” Oikawa grinned. “Matsukawa, right? Can I call you Mattsun?”

“Sure,” Matsukawa sent Hajime a gloating look. However, it was quick to fall into a startled yelp when Hanamaki elbowed him out of the way

“I want a nickname!” Hanamaki exclaimed. “Hanamaki, by the way.”

“Makki it is then!” Oikawa declared.

Hajime felt like he was surrounded by a sea of idiots, and the waves were slowly eroding away at the shores of his sanity. He was convinced before that Hanamaki and Matsukawa collectively shared one brain cell, but now that they had to ration it out with Oikawa, Hajime felt like his end was imminent.

“Oh, would you look at that!” Oikawa exclaimed, “I’m in your homeroom, Iwa-chan!”

Hajime banged his head against his locker.

“Oikawa-san! It’s so nice to meet you in person!”

“I saw that last ad you did, you were amazing!”

“Your hair looks so shiny, Oikawa-san! What do you use?”

“My sister’s gonna flip when she finds out you go here! She’s like, obsessed with you!”

“You okay, Iwaizumi?”

Hajime released the paper he’d been clenching in his fist, not realizing he’d been crumpling it at all. All damn day, Oikawa had followed him around, and with him came all the girls with their giggles and their exclamation points and their “Oikawa-san”s accompanied by batting eyelashes. It was slowly driving him insane. He was definitely not okay. The four of them (rather, three, because Oikawa _still_ had yet to sit down) were at their desks during lunch. Somehow, Oikawa had been assigned the seat right beside him, and was both intentionally and unintentionally making his life a living hell. Right now, the other boy was basking in the attention while he munched on the milk bread somebody had given him because apparently it was his favorite.

“Peachy.” He said bluntly. Hanamaki, who had asked, nodded with a knowing look.

“Understandable,” he said simply. “But crushing our math homework isn’t an excuse not to do it.”

“Ah, Iwa-chan wouldn’t know,” Oikawa fucking _finally_ sat down, a smirk on his face. “He tends to solve everything with brute force.”

Hajime glared at him. It didn’t help that his hair actually did look shiny, and his face was extremely nice to look at. He kept staring at it, hoping exposure therapy would help him nullify the effect it had on his stupid heart.

“Why do you only tune into conversations at opportune times to harass me?”

“That’s what you think,” Oikawa winked, and Hajime thought he might have heard his own brain short-circuit in his head. “I’m always listening, Iwa-chan.”

“Funny how you can’t listen when I tell you to stop calling me that stupid nickname.”

“What else am I supposed to call you then?” Oikawa raised an eyebrow, eyes wide with innocence but dancing with malice. “ _Hajime_?”

Oikawa had to know Hajime was unwittingly (sadly, begrudgingly, reluctantly, unfortunately, etc.) attracted to him, otherwise he would not have just _breathed_ his name like that. Holy shit. Hajime’s flustered expression earned several laughs from Hanamaki and Matsukawa (again, _traitors_ ) to which he grimaced at Oikawa.

“Never do that ever again.”

“You’re so boring, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa frowned. “Just like Ushiwaka.”

“I still don’t know what your problem with him is,” Hajime frowned. Earlier that day, Ushijima greeted Oikawa the way he greeted everyone, and Oikawa sniffed and walked away while everyone watched in shock. So much for family friends. Ushijima just returned to Tendou, nonplussed, like this was a common occurrence, and the world had resumed. Hajime, who had always thought Ushijima was a good guy, still couldn’t fathom why.

“He’s tactless, and annoying.” Oikawa huffed in response to Hajime’s implied question. He flicked a grain of rice across his desk moodily.

“Ushijima is a nice guy,” Hajime argued. “Sure, he’s blunt, but he’s honest and just wants the best for everybody.”

“Of course you’d sympathize with him. You’re violent and irritable,” Oikawa stuck his tongue out at him. Hajime scowled.

“I am not violent—”

“You bruised my shin!”

“I didn’t kick you that hard,” Hajime protested pointedly. “And you were being an ass. You deserved it.”

“I still can’t believe you two met in a fucking _shower stall,_ ” Matsukawa raised his brow at the both of them. “And they say romance is dead.”

Hanamaki cackled beside him.

Traitors. Absolute traitors.

*/**.__.**\\*

“How long have you played?” Hajime asked. Thankfully, school had ended, and the two of them were stretching on the gym floor, wearing their exercise clothes for tryouts. Oikawa wore his gym clothes while Hajime was in their practice uniform. They looked similar enough — teal shirts and white shorts — but the gym uniform had the school name in the corner, while the practice uniform had it splayed across the back where their last names normally went on their jerseys.

“Well, I’ve never actually played on a team, per say,” Oikawa said, leaning forward in his stretch. “But I taught myself almost everything from watching other people play. I practiced with Ushiwaka — mostly because he begged me to, of course — but he’s the only one I’ve actually tossed to.”

“Really?” Hajime raised an eyebrow. He honestly didn’t have that much faith in Oikawa in the first place, and this lowered his expectations even further. He wasn’t sure what else to say, other than, “good luck, then.”

Hajime ended up leading warmups for the first twenty minutes. He watched Oikawa’s receives and his expectations did a 180 as Hajime was steadily impressed with how quick he was to react. He didn’t get every single one, but it was much better than Hajime expected, and he patted him on the back when he walked by.

“Not bad.”

“Thanks, _captain_.”

Oikawa drew out the word the way he had Hajime’s name earlier, and yeah, he had to be doing that on purpose. Hajime wanted to threaten him with laps, but he wasn’t even on the team yet, and he had no good reason to, other than “you’re making me think dirty thoughts on purpose aren’t you?”

However, this was all immediately forgotten as soon as the practice matches started. He’d put Oikawa on his team along with Matsukawa and a first year named Kunimi. Hanamaki was not pleased with this arrangement, his other teammates being Kyōtani, Yahaba, and Kindaichi. Kyōtani was a promising player from last year, if he kept his mood in check, and Kindaichi was a first year who Hajime had yet to see play, but he looked promising too.

Yahaba, their reserve setter and pinch server, was up to serve first. Hajime received it easily, bumping it toward Oikawa for the boy to make a toss. He held his breath as Oikawa’s graceful fingers connected with the ball, pushing it right back up into the air in a beautiful arc directed back toward Hajime. Hajime was already in position, pushing off the ground and slamming the ball onto the other side of the net. When it made impact, Hajime instinctively turned and beamed at Oikawa, who was already beaming back at him.

Like some sort of internal switch had flipped, they connected their knuckles in a fist-bump. They stared at their hands in surprise, as neither of them had really thought to do it, it had just happened. Oikawa’s smile was a little shyer, now, and Hajime’s was more timid, too.

His heart was absolutely racing, and it wasn’t from the exercises.

“Oh, so pretty boy _can_ play,” Hanamaki huffed, ruining the moment. “This is really not fair, you know.”

“Aw, don’t complain, Makki,” Oikawa fixed him with a taunting smirk that looked less infuriating and more attractive when Hajime wasn’t on the receiving end of it. “We’ll crush you real quick so you can get this over with!”

Hanamaki snorted. “Tough talk, Oikawa. It’s your turn to serve. Why don’t you show us how quickly you’ll end this, then?”

Based on how well Oikawa had been doing at everything else, he wasn’t sure Hanamaki really wanted to challenge him like that. But of course, Oikawa characteristically took the opportunity to show off.

“Careful what you wish for, Makki.”

And then Oikawa spun the ball in his palm.

Now, for those who know nothing about volleyball, the ball-spin before a serve is a sign of sudden death. It’s a sight that makes you drop into a cold sweat if you’re standing on the other side of the net. It strikes fear into the hearts of newbies and experienced players alike. It’s a brief moment of “oh shit” before you realize you’re about to absolutely get your shit rocked.

Hajime knew this, and he couldn’t help but grin at the way Hanamaki’s face paled.

Both sides watched with bated breath as Oikawa backed up. He took his sweet time, because he knew he had everyone’s attention. He knew all eyes were on him. Hajime couldn’t tear his own away if he tried. Then, he tossed the ball up in the air, jumped with equal quantities of elegance and power, and proceeded to absolutely _bury_ the ball on the other side of the court with a reverberating SLAM.

There was silence.

“Holy shit.”

That was Matsukawa’s hoarse reaction. Hajime’s was turning around and vigorously shaking Oikawa by the shoulders, some sort of manic feeling welling up in his chest because finally, _finally_ , they had another good player — and he might even be _better_ than Ushijima.

“You didn’t tell me you could serve!” Hajime cried as he slowed his shaking. “Holy shit, Oikawa. Do that again and I will make you all the milk bread you want. That’s a promise.”

“You’d better make good on that,” Oikawa grinned at him, a genuine one. “I’ll do it as many times as you want.”

“Can you two cut the foreplay and get back to the game?” Hanamaki called loudly across the net, clearly peeved that he had been so thoroughly embarrassed. Kindaichi went red behind him, and Kyōtani jerked his thumb, as if to say “what he said.”

They ended up winning the practice match.

Oikawa was on the team for sure, there was absolutely no dispute from either the team or Coach Mizoguchi. The setter seemed thrilled by this, a new skip to his step as he walked out of school doors at Hajime’s side. They’d been talking about the match and Hanamaki’s face and this and that beforehand, caught up in the endorphins of playing. However, things gradually settled into a silence, and Oikawa was still walking with him, even though their conversation had ended.

“Thanks for joining the team,” Hajime said, entirely genuine. “We really needed somebody like you, especially after Ushijima left. He was our best player.”

Oikawa smiled, shyly again, like he had earlier.

“Of course. I love volleyball, probably even more than I like pushing your buttons, Iwa-chan. It’s the one thing I can have that lets me feel like I’m in control.”

His eyes widened suddenly, mouth clamping shut, as if he hadn’t meant to say that.

“What do you mean?” Hajime asked. Oikawa shook his head, his teasing smile returning to his face, but that wistful look never really leaving his eyes. Hajime decided not to push it.

“It didn’t bother you that he was in your place for the starting lineup?” Oikawa asked, diverting the topic back to Ushijima instead of himself.

“No. He deserved it, so why wouldn’t he be?”

“I think you should give yourself some more credit, Iwa-chan.”

“And I think you should shut up and go home,” Hajime jibed, though his usual bite wasn’t in it, unused to seeing Oikawa so genuine. “Why are you even walking with me anyway?”

Oikawa smiled at him, but it was plastic again. Hajime thought he liked Oikawa’s real smiles a lot better. He liked the way they made his eyes shine.

“My father said it was okay if I went out in public, as long as it was with you or Ushijima. I asked how he knew you, and he said he met you yesterday.”

“He did?” Hajime raised an eyebrow, trying to remember the people he’d encountered yesterday. There was the blind man, but he looked way too old to be Oikawa’s dad. There were the typical customers, but Hajime knew them beforehand. The one person he could think of was the stone-chiseled man that came to the bakery with Ushijima’s mother.

Holy shit.

“ _That_ was your father?” Hajime practically squeaked.

“What’s that tone about?” Oikawa raised an eyebrow, taunting, but his voice betrayed his nervousness. “Did you tell him to fuck off or something? That was awfully rude of you.” 

“No, not at all. The conversation went fine. It just — surprised me,” Hajime shook his head. “You look nothing alike.”

“Ah, I've been told I get all my genes from my mother,” Oikawa sighed, smiling fondly at his shoes. Hajime was inwardly debating about whether or not to tell Oikawa that his father had come in with Ushijima’s mother. Oikawa must have taken his silence for confusion, because he sighed again.

“She passed away six years ago.”

Hajime nearly stopped walking, the shock of the statement hitting him like a bulldozer.

“Oh,” he said.

“Oh,” Oikawa repeated, a small smile tugging at his lips. Hajime could tell it was another fake one, because the smile didn’t extend to his eyes. He was trying to brush it off, he didn’t want Hajime to feel bad for him.

“I’m sorry,” Hajime said anyway, because not saying it would make him an asshole, and even though Oikawa probably didn’t want his pity, he was still sorry. “You don’t have to talk about it, or anything, it’s not my business.”

“I know, but it’s only fair that you know what you’re getting yourself into,” Oikawa said casually, shrugging it off. “You know, all the baggage that comes with being a spoiled pretty boy.”

Hajime’s heart sunk at the use of his own words. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Don't apologize,” Oikawa waved his hand to brush it off. “After all, it’s not like you could have known.” Just as Hajime was about to butt in about how that was no excuse, Oikawa took a deep breath, and Hajime recognized that sign immediately. It was time for him to just shut up and listen, and save his words for later so Oikawa could get something important off his chest.

“My mother was the one who wanted a normal life for me, and didn’t want me to model until if and when I decided that it was what I really wanted to do. But after she died, you know, it was only a matter of time. I started at thirteen — criticism hits really hard, when you’re thirteen— and I’ve been modeling since.” He chuckled humorlessly. “The critics aren’t a problem, anymore, and the fans and fame are a definite bonus. It does sort of suck the life out of you, though. My father doesn’t want me in public without my bodyguard or somebody he approves of, so I’m stuck in the house a lot without much to do. It’s exhausting, being this good looking.”

Though he’d meant it as a joke to ease the mood, Hajime could see the tiredness in his eyes, the way his lips curved downward as he frowned at the pavement. Hajime wasn’t sure what to do. He was a lot better at toughening people up then consoling them, it just wasn’t in his nature. But that wasn’t what Oikawa needed right now, so he tried his best.

“You deserve better,” Hajime told him. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re still an ass. But you’re really strong, too. I know because you’ve clearly been through a lot, and yet you still push yourself for more. You blew me away with how great you were at tryouts today, and I can only imagine how much time and effort that took. You’re an incredible player, Oikawa. I’m really looking forward to being your ace this season.”

Oikawa finally turned to look at him, his brown eyes wide with surprise before they returned to normal, another small, genuine smile on his face.

“Look at you, Iwa-chan, gushing about how amazing I am—”

Hajime shoved him, and to his surprise, Oikawa shoved him back, grinning. His eyes still looked a little shiny, but Hajime decided not to point that out.

“Don’t go getting the idea that I like you, or anything,” Hajime grumbled instead, realizing that their walk had taken them back to the bakery. Oikawa followed his gaze, his grin turning teasing once again.

“Taking me on a date, Iwa-chan? My fans would be jealous.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, idiot. I live here,” he moved toward the door before turning, not wanting to leave just yet. “You should come inside,” he offered, tone lifting in a jest as he pushed open the door. “It’s nothing compared to the deluxe suite you probably have for a bedroom, but it would be good for you to know how normal people live.”

“Mmmm, no wonder you smell so good all the time,” Oikawa took in a long whiff of the bakery smell Hajime had gotten used to. He blushed at Oikawa’s comment, but turned away so the boy wouldn’t see and tease him about it. Unfortunately, his mother was standing right in his line of sight, and she was looking curiously between Hajime’s flushed face, Oikawa, and the jacket he was wearing. He could see it in her eyes when it clicked.

Oh no.

“Ah, you must be Hajime’s friend!” She beamed, stepping out from beside the counter.

Hajime had to still his heart at the way Oikawa instantly lit up — any and all spare traces of sadness evaporated from his being. His eyes were wide, shining, and his smile was real this time, stretched into a dumb grin. Hajime thought he looked a lot prettier when he was actually happy than he did in his pictures, but then again, maybe he just had a shitty photographer.

“Friend?” Oikawa was poking his arm enthusiastically, and Hajime took back all of his flattering thoughts at the persistent stabbing of his finger. “You said I was your friend, Iwa-chan?”

“Shut up, Shittykawa,” Hajime grumbled at him, trying to hide his pleasure at the fact Oikawa was happy again. “You’re a brat.”

“Yeah, yeah, but you love me,” Oikawa sang, and while Hajime grunted his disagreement, he didn’t really protest.

“Don’t worry, he treats all his friends like that,” his mother chuckled. “Probably why he doesn’t have many.”

This sent Oikawa into a fit of laughter, and Hajime flushed. Betrayed, by his own mother! He was surrounded by traitors.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Hajime’s mother,” she offered her hand, and Oikawa took it eagerly, shaking it with an air of professionalism.

“It’s a pleasure, Iwaizumi-san. I’m Tooru Oikawa,” he gave her his most winning smile, and Hajime groaned internally as his mother beamed back. They had a short conversation about the bakery and whatnot before his mother eventually shooed the two of them off to Hajime’s room. He hadn’t even intended to take him there, but his mother’s requests were hard to defy, so he did so anyway.

“Your mother’s so sweet, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa remarked as they walked up the stairs. “What happened with you?”

“She’s scary when she wants to be,” Hajime said truthfully. “But you’ve won her over. Also, you can’t talk. You’re nothing like your dad either.”

He paused, realization hitting him. “Is that why you were looking at me weird earlier?”

“What do you mean?”

“You just seemed kind of closed off, when you looked at me. Like you weren’t sure about me,” Hajime frowned. “You seem fine now, but earlier—”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Oikawa shook his head to specify that Hajime needn’t continue. “I’m just surprised you noticed. My father doesn’t approve just anybody, you know. He must like you,” he sighed. “Maybe he just wants to keep me busy. You know, so he doesn’t have to take care of me.”

Hajime’s heart sunk again at the dejected look on Oikawa’s face, and so he tried to paint a different light on it. After all, it wasn’t his place to say what was or wasn’t true, as Oikawa probably knew best.

“I think it might have been something I said.”

“Hm?” Oikawa seemed confused, but not dejected anymore.

“I was talking with Ushijima’s mom about Ushijima and Tendou, and I said something like ‘if he’s obsessed with volleyball, his best friend should be too.’ Earlier in the conversation she’d mentioned I was the captain and the ace. Maybe he wanted somebody for you to play volleyball with,” Hajime shrugged. However, this seemed to do the trick, as Oikawa was smiling again.

“Does that mean we’re best friends now?”

“Ew, gross,” Hajime rolled his eyes. “In your dreams, Shittykawa.”

“You’re in denial, Iwa-chan!”

“It’s not denial if it’s not true.”

“Fine!” Oikawa huffed, a new sense of determination in his eyes. “Then let’s make it true!”

“Huh—?”

But Oikawa cleared his throat, lifting his chin with an air of chivalry as if he were about to make a grand speech.

“Do you, Hajime Iwaizumi, swear to be by my side, ‘til death do us part? In sickness and in health—”

“Why are you saying wedding vows?!”

“Shush, Iwa-chan!” He cleared his throat, continuing as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “Through my successes and my struggles, through my feats and my failures? Do you vow, Hajime, to keep me for better or for worse, even when I embarrass you and you kick me in the shin? Even when all the girls leave you for me because I don’t have hedgehog hair or a stupid face—“

“Oi!”

“Even when someday you inevitably fall in love with me too and want to say our vows for real—”

“Okay, fine, fine! I do!” Hajime finally cried out, having heard enough that his ears were brilliantly red. “Do you, Idiotkawa, solemnly swear to shut the fuck up?”

“I do,” Oikawa sniffled dramatically, wiping a tear from his eye that wasn’t there. “This is the best day of my life, Iwa-chan.”

“You’ve already broken your vow.”

“You didn’t specify how long.”

“Damn it.”

“Looks like you’re stuck with me, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa tossed his arms around Hajime, pressing his warm chest into Hajime’s back. “Til death do us part.”

“Get off me, idiot, I’m going to fall over,” they were at the trapdoor at that point, so Hajime had a reason not to turn around and show Oikawa just how furiously he was blushing. He quickly opened the trapdoor leading to his room, climbing up first and then helping Oikawa up as well. His hands were soft and smooth in comparison to how rough Hajime’s were. They felt so delicate in his own that the thought nearly sent him into another blushing fit.

When Oikawa was on his feet again, he gazed around at the room, unexpectedly fascinated. Hajime’s walls were painted a serene, forget-me-not blue, giving the room the impression of a sky as they inclined inward toward the center of the room. Hajime’s bed laid directly below the peak of the room, while a set of small stairs led to the loft bed on the left side of the room. Below the loft was Hajime’s workspace, where he did his homework or read occasionally.

“Wow.”

Hajime looked at Oikawa curiously. The other boy didn’t seem to know where to look, but finally settled on Hajime’s face. “Your room isn’t at all what I expected.”

Hajime snorted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well for one, it’s clean,” Oikawa mused. “And two, it’s artistic. Even I don’t have a loft bed, and with the way your walls are painted, it must feel like sleeping in the sky.”

“I usually sleep on this one here,” Hajime patted the bed that was beside him. “Just because it’s closer, and more comfortable. Though that’s what I was thinking when I first decided to make it.”

Oikawa gaped. “You _made_ it?”

“I had my dad help me set it up, but yeah, I did a lot of the designing,” Hajime shrugged. When Oikawa only continued to stare at him, he awkwardly gestured to the set of stairs. “Want to go up?”

Oikawa lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Yes, yes, yes! By all means, lead the way, Iwa-chan!”

He was like a little kid on their birthday, and with the way his eyes were sparkling with excitement again and his smile was wide and true, Hajime couldn’t help but indulge him. He led Oikawa up the set of stairs, ducking beneath the ceiling to reach the little alcove. Above him was the trapdoor to the balcony, and he pulled the rope which released the trapdoor and the rope ladder that came with it.

Oikawa was still watching in amazement, the light of the afternoon casting light onto his face.

“Can we go up there?” He asked.

“Why do you think I opened it, dumbass?”

Hajime led the way once again. Oikawa struggled a bit with the ladder at first, but eventually worked his way up to the top, pushing himself up to stand with Hajime on the balcony of the bakery apartment. The streets of Tokyo were busy, the sky blue, while lights flickered on and off as far as the eye could see.

“It’s not much right now, but it’s really pretty when it’s nighttime,” Hajime said mildly

“I like it,” Oikawa replied, looking around at the streets as if he’d never seen them before. He took a deep breath of air, and released it with a happy sigh. “I feel so free up here. No cameras. No bodyguard. No publicity. It feels nice to watch other people, for a change.”

Hajime wasn’t sure what to say to this, but he knew that he didn’t want the contented look on Oikawa’s face to go away. He liked seeing Oikawa happy, even if he drove Hajime insane at some points and made him constantly aware of how much he liked boys. He was glad he met Oikawa, who was somebody who saw the world through a different lens than Hajime did. Oikawa had been surprised at all the things that Hajime had just accepted as his reality, making Hajime wonder if he’d been too complacent before.

Maybe it was time he started making his own reality. 

“God, I’m going to regret this,” Hajime sighed. “But you can come over whenever you want, okay?”

For all of his potential regrets, it was worth it in the way Oikawa had smiled at him then.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that!!! This isn’t perfect yet because editing is not my strongsuit and sometimes I think faster than my thumbs can come up with and don’t actually go back and reprocess everything until later. The chapters won’t be this long in the future (at least I hope not jesus), but there was a lot I had to write out to help set the stage for this fic. Anyway, I hope you’re liking it so far and I LOVE seeing your feedback in the comments and in your kudos <3.  
> I hope you’re all having a great morning/evening/ungodly hour in between.  
> Holy shit count: 5


	2. unfortunate circumstances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course, the first date (it’s not really a date, but he liked to pretend it was) Hajime’s been on in months is interrupted by an akuma attack.  
> Just his luck.  
> Then again, he should have seen it coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry this took so long to get out! I have so much of the framework done but adding in all the nitty gritty details takes a while lmao.  
> Also for those asking about my updating schedule; I would say every two weeks on average, but I’m going to be really busy for the next month or so so I wouldn’t hold myself entirely accountable to that. Two weeks is what I’ll aim for, though!  
> I hope everybody’s doing well and that reading this helps you relax a little from everything else that’s going on. Remember to breathe and drink lots of water! Maybe eat a vegetable, if you are so inclined <3.

  
  


  
It was seven in the morning when Hajime’s phone buzzed on the edge of his sink. He figured it was a text, but it buzzed again shortly after. Somebody was calling him, and when he checked the caller ID, it was a number he didn’t know. He let it ring for a while, brushing his teeth and letting whatever spam caller that decided to bother him give up. He spit unceremoniously in the sink after another minute, and the phone buzzed again.

He grimaced at his reflection in the mirror, because by now he had ruled out the possibilities. He should probably pick this up, and save himself a tantrum later.

“Hello?”

His voice was scratchy from waking up ten minutes ago, and the response could be heard over him clearing his throat.

“Iwa-chan!”

“Shittykawa?” He asked, though he wasn’t really that surprised. “How the hell did you get my number?”

He could practically _see_ Oikawa’s pout on the other end of the line.

“That’s no way to greet your _best friend!_ ”

Hajime winced at the emphasis on his words. He wouldn’t say he’d become Oikawa’s friend unwillingly — in all honesty, he liked being Oikawa’s friend, no matter how irritating he became. However, Oikawa had taken the liberty of proclaiming to everybody just how close of friends they were, in addition to constantly inserting himself in Hajime’s personal space and time. Hajime rarely _really_ minded, and when he did, Oikawa would back off (although he would mope afterward and make Hajime feel guilty) but his constant demand for Hajime’s attention was not helping the initial attraction that had blossomed fruitfully into a hopeless crush.

Hajime couldn’t decide if it was a blessing or a curse. A blessing, because he liked Oikawa (he wouldn’t admit it) and got to be in his company all the time. A curse, because he _liked_ Oikawa, and _had_ to be in his company all the time.

“I met you four days ago, and I literally pretend not to know you when we’re in public because you’re so embarrassing to be around,” Hajime said, popping his tube of gel open with the thumb of one hand.

“But you still hang out with me, Iwa-chan.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

“You still didn’t answer my question,” Hajime reminded him, tucking his phone into his shoulder to free his other hand and squeeze a minimal amount of gel between his fingers. He started to comb it through his hair to get the dark strands out of his eyes, brow knitted in concentration so he wouldn’t drop the phone. There was a small silence before Oikawa answered, as if he were debating whether or not to betray his partner in crime.

“Makki gave it to me.”

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“Please don’t!” Oikawa pleaded. “I don’t think he’d like that very much.”

“He can’t have an opinion if he’s dead.”

“So violent.”

“So whiny.”

“So mean.”

“So irritating.”

“Hedgehog.”

“Idiot.”

“Brute.”

“Idiot.”

“You already said that!” Oikawa cried on the other side of the line. Hajime laughed into the receiver at his affronted reaction.

“I know, but I thought you might need a reminder.”

Oikawa laughed, despite it being at his expense. It was staticky through the line, so it didn’t have the usual thought-stopping, heartwarming effect it normally did. Then again, maybe it was because Hajime couldn’t see the way Oikawa’s smile stretched to his eyes, or the way his shoulders lifted as his laugh left him. He could picture it all the same, the image burned into his brain enough to make him blush whenever he thought of it.

“Hello? Iwa-chan?”

Hajime jumped, his phone falling onto the counter. He scrambled to pick it up, fingers still slightly sticky with gel. He groaned to himself, knowing he’d have to clean it off later.

“Sorry, what was that?” He asked, his annoyance roughening his voice.

“Can you bring me breakfast again?” At Hajime’s silence, he added, “pretty please?”

Hajime really had to stop giving into Oikawa’s whims. Ever since Oikawa had found out his family owned the bakery he’d been asking Hajime to bring him food every morning. Hajime wasn’t sure why he was so insistent on it — the girls were shameless in bringing Oikawa food each day for every meal (even dinner, sometimes they waited for him after practice and brought him _dinner!_ ), enough that he didn’t know what to do with it and he started bringing an extra bag just to put everything in. However, the girls hadn’t taken this as a sign to back off — they took it as a sign to bring _more._ Hanamaki and Matsukawa had wasted no time in teasing Oikawa for it. It really only served to annoy Hajime, because Oikawa made him carry it around for him.

“No. Get your own breakfast.”

“You always say that, and you still bring me food,” Oikawa pointed out. Hajime huffed.

“Yeah, because you threaten not to eat _anything_ if I don’t! It’s not like you’re gonna starve; your fan club brings you milk bread every morning.”

“Yeah, but yours tastes better.”

He couldn’t help the little twinge of pride he felt in that moment. He shouldn’t be so happy over something so stupid, but knowing he preferred Hajime’s baking to any of his fan club’s offerings made him feel _important_ , damn it.

“Okay, fine,” Hajime conceded. “But if you sweep your crumbs on my desk again I’m gonna tell Hanamaki you sold him out.”

“You got it, Iwa-chan. I’ll dump them on Mattsun’s desk instead.”

Hajime groaned. “Who let you be this spoiled?”

Oikawa downright _giggled_. “You.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Hajime could feel the blush creeping up his neck, and was pointedly not looking at himself in the mirror. “Like, I don’t know, school? I’ll bet it takes an hour and a half for you to cover up your hideous personality with hairspray and skin cream.”

“Looking presentable isn’t a crime, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa hummed. “You should try it sometime.”

 _The audacity of this asshole._ “Don't get smart with me. I have your breakfast on the line.”

“How could I forget? I look forward to it every morning.”

“Dont butter me up—”

“I’m serious!” Oikawa interrupted him, sounding earnest. “And you’re right. I’ve really got to get back to getting ready. Thanks for picking up, Iwa-chan. I’ll see you soon!”

Before he knew it, the beep informed him that the call had ended, and he stared blankly at his phone for a moment before turning his attention to wiping the gel off of the case.

“You’re still blushing, you know.”

The sound of Kuroo’s voice nearly startled Hajime into dropping his phone again. He glared at the kwami in the mirror, who was smirking at him knowingly.

“When did you wake up?”

“It’s hard to sleep when your owner is yapping away to his crush on the phone.”

Hajime opened his mouth to correct him, but found that he couldn’t and Kuroo huffed triumphantly.

“That’s what I thought.”

*/**.__.**\\*

This was the first of many following phone calls over the next three days. It was as if they had just split for the day when Hajime’s phone was already ringing with a call from Oikawa. They talked until one of them was busy, or Hajime insisted on getting his homework finished. Along with their usual quips, they had normal conversations too, about volleyball, school, their friends. Oikawa told Hajime about his shoot coming up the next Monday, and how he couldn’t walk Hajime home like he normally did.

He promised he’d make up for it, even though Hajime had certainly protested that he didn’t have to. Yet still, by some unspoken law of the universe, Oikawa does what Oikawa pleases, and so he insisted. Hajime wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, until the Sunday morning shift when the phone rang. Hajime nodded to Sugawara at the register, who smiled back, and waved him off with a hand in a friendly sort of manner.

Hajime picked up the phone in the other room, facing away from the counter so he could still see Sugawara in the doorway. Sugawara’s eyes flicked back to him every so often, in case there were instructions to be given. Hajime had had to remind the other employee several times that just because his mom was the owner of the bakery didn’t mean that Hajime was his boss. He drummed his fingers on the counter as he spoke into the phone, still a bit bleary-eyes for the early hours of the morning.

“Hello? This is Iwaizumi Bakery speaking.”

“Wow, Iwa-chan! You sound so professional!”

The familiar, bright voice took Hajime by surprise, which was then soon followed by aggravation. He held the receiver away from his ear and _glared_ at it, as if the sight could be transmitted along with Hajime’s voice.

“Oh my God, Oikawa. This is the _wrong phone._ I’m hanging up—”

“No no no! Wait! Sorry. You weren’t picking up on your actual phone, so I had to contact you another way!”

He sounded a little desperate, and Hajime felt himself melt into a pile of pliable mush. He longed for the day he’d be able to resist Oikawa’s pleading. He made eye contact with Sugawara at the register, who was looking at Hajime curiously, an amused curl to his lips. Sugawara was another boy who was unfairly pretty, the morning light from the window casting a golden halo around his silvery hair, his coppery eyes shaded but still sparkling. He was a hard worker, was great with customers, and often took people here to tutor them. He thought it was funny that Sugawara treated him like his boss, because he was much more of a professional. If he’d been called by a friend on the bakery phone, he would have hung up and told them to talk later.

Hajime knew that that was what he should have done, but Oikawa was Oikawa, and he was helpless.

“Fine. Make it quick, because you’re holding up the line.”

Oikawa cleared his throat, and Hajime prepared for him to lay down some important news. Instead, he got,

“How was your day?”

Hajime blinked. His fists clenched on the counter. _That_ was what Oikawa was so desperate to ask? He decided to indulge him, for the sake of getting this over with.

“Fine,” he said shortly. “Ive only been awake two hours.”

“That’s good!” Oikawa chirped. After a beat of silence, he stage-whispered, “now you’re supposed to ask me how my day was!”

Hajime grimaced, his eye twitching. Oikawa was lucky that Hajime had a big, stupid crush on him that prevented him from hanging up right then and there.

“What if I don’t care?”

“Iwa-chan! Mean!”

“If that’s all you called to do, then I’m hanging up—”

“How long are you working today?”

Hajime raised an eyebrow, wondering why he would need to know.

“My shift started an hour ago. It ends at 10:30.”

Oikawa’s words came teasing when he replied.

“Why are you on your phone at work, Iwa-chan?”

“Because you called me on the bakery phone, you idiot. I thought you were a customer.”

There was a moments pause.

“I can be. Give me thirty minutes, I’ll see you soon!”

And then the line was dead. Hajime stared at it, utterly bewildered, before hanging it back up. He shot an equally confused look at Sugawara, as though he would have an answer, but he obviously didn’t.

“I can be?” He muttered to himself, returning to stand with Sugawara behind the counter. “What the hell does ‘I can be’ mean?”

“Depends on the context,” his shift partner hummed, taking out a new stack of paper bags and sliding them neatly into the rack on the counter. “If you’d care to elaborate.”

“Shittykawa was asking why I was on the phone at work, and I told him it was because I picked up thinking he was a customer, and then he just said ‘I can be’ and hung up. What’s that supposed to be about?”

“I don’t know,” Sugawara mused. “He’s full of surprises, that one.”

Hajime snorted. “Tell me about it.”

“I really wish I was in you and Daichi’s class,” Sugawara sighed. “All the fun things happen with you guys. Shimizu and Asahi and I have become so bored that we play hangman on sticky notes. Usually with mildly inappropriate phrases, like ‘lick my ass’ and ‘Takeda-sensei is definitely boning that guy from the convenience store.’”

Hajime quirked an eyebrow, thoroughly amused. “Did he catch that one?”

“Yes, actually,” Sugawara snickered, mischief glinting his deceivingly innocent eyes. “But there weren’t enough letters to decipher anything but the word ‘boning.’”

Hajime couldn’t help the sharp bark of a laugh that escaped him. Sugawara was giggling too, entertained by Hajime’s reaction.

“You’re going to run that poor man to the ground,” Hajime told him.

“Oh please, he’s _your_ advisor,” Sugawara reminded him. “If he hasn’t lost it after working with you maniacs on the team for five years, our class is nothing.”

“Touché.”

A group of people came in around then, and Hajime had to bite back his grin so as not to show he was thinking about Takeda-sensei’s expression staring at the word “boning” on a sticky note alongside a half-hanged stick man. Sugawara didn’t appear to be having any such difficulty, until the customers left with their various pastries and breads and the silver-haired boy burst into laughter.

“I could tell you were trying not to laugh,” he said, pointing teasingly at Hajime. “It looked like you were halfway between sneezing and shitting your pants.”

“Ah, that would explain the weird looks,” Hajime laughed alongside him, despite his embarrassment. They settled into a comfortable silence, sweeping the crumbs off the counter and aimlessly attending to this and that to pass the time. Sugawara’s company was just as easy to enjoy in silence as it was in loud fits of laughter and cackling. The silence was broken, however, Sugawara’s soft chuckle. Hajime looked up, wondering what it was this time.

“I still can’t believe he called you from the bakery phone.”

Hajime was suddenly reminded of Oikawa’s odd call, and the mysterious words he’d said afterward. He still didn’t know what they meant, but according to his watch he had a few minutes to figure it out before the thirty minutes Oikawa had asked Hajime to give him ran out.

“Yeah, because I my actual phone is in my room on ‘do not disturb,’” Hajime rolled his eyes. “And he couldn’t wait another two hours to call me.”

“You _are_ in high demand these days, Iwaizumi-san,” Sugawara winked. Hajime grimaced.

“Yeah, yeah, says you. Everybody loves you,” he reminded him, waving his hand flippantly. “We’re flattered you still work for us, what with how busy you are. And quit calling me Iwaizumi-san — that’s what you call my mother.”

“Sorry, Iwaizumi-san.”

Sugawara had done it on purpose that time, because he was biting his cheek to stifle his grin and Hajime let out a long, heavy sigh.

“Tell you what,” Sugawara spoke up again. “I’ll drop the -san while we’re at work if you drop this ‘Sugawara’ business. Everybody calls me Suga. I only talk to you like you’re an old man because you talk to me like one.”

Hajime flushed red, suddenly embarrassed.

“Do I really talk like an old man?”

“Yeah, and a testy old geezer to boot.”

Hajime thought he might have skyrocketed six feet in the air.

“Fuck, Oikawa, don’t scare me like that.”

He hadn’t even heard the bell chime, and he’d been facing the wrong way, so he hadn’t seen Oikawa come in either. Yet, there he was, at the counter, smiling far too brightly for nine thirty in the morning. His hair looked effortlessly tousled, yet perfectly put-together at the same time. The sunlight from the window tinged it with gold, and if it weren’t for the devious smirk, Hajime would have admitted that he looked very pretty in that moment.

“Should you be swearing on the job?”

“I have good reason to,” Iwaizumi glared at him. He was dressed nicely again, a cream-colored, plaid button down tucked into his blue jeans, the buttons fully undone to reveal a white shirt tucked beneath it. A brown belt pulled his jeans tighter just over his hips. Hajime wondered just how vast his closet must be to wear outfits like that every day. “What are you doing here?”

“You said whenever I want,” Oikawa smirked. Hajime was, once again, reminded that he made terrible life decisions. Why him? Why had he done this to himself? He still had bags under his eyes from waking up early, and he hadn’t made any sort of effort with his hair that morning, nor had he shaved, so he certainly felt like a mess standing next to Suga and Oikawa.

“Oh! And who’s this?”

Hajime ceased his internal berating to see that Oikawa had fixed Suga with a certain _look_ , and Hajime had a feeling it was intended for intimidation. Oikawa got like that during practice when they played three on threes, and Hajime had been on the receiving end of it enough times to know it was shiver-inducing. Though, maybe that might just be him, because Suga was taking it in stride, a polite smile on his face.

“Koushi Sugawara,” he introduced himself. “But everybody calls me Suga. Except Iwaizumi, apparently, because he’s an old man.”

Suga grinned cheekily at Hajime afterward, and he sent him a deadpan look. 

“Nice to meet you, Suga,” Oikawa flashed a plastic smile, “Tooru Oikawa, though I’m sure you’ve heard all about me from Iwa-chan.”

“Ah, yes, your reputation precedes you,” Suga smiled back, mischievous glint in his eye. “Shittykawa.”

Hajime would have paid good money to see the way Oikawa’s smug expression morphed into horror, absolutely caught off guard by the speed at which he’d been humbled. Hajime expected no less of Suga — after all, he dealt with children every day.

Oikawa rounded on Hajime, shock morphing into betrayal.

“Iwa-chan! What kind of terrible things have you been saying about me?”

Hajime laughed. “You should see the look on your face. Now _that_ belongs in a magazine.”

Oikawa pouted, and it was horrifyingly cute. “I can’t believe I came to visit you at work only to be verbally assaulted like this.”

Suga laughed, which led to Hajime’s laughter too, while Oikawa just scowled at the both of them. Hajime’s heart fluttered at the fact Oikawa came to visit him while he was working, and Oikawa stopped pouting when he saw Hajime send an appreciative smile his way. The moment was interrupted when Suga’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he reached and took it out to check the message.

Hajime felt his heart sink, because the amused look on Suga’s face had shattered instantaneously, eyes widening as his lips parted in disbelief. There was a momentary flash of something in his copper eyes — it looked an awful lot like hurt — before he tucked his phone back in his pocket and returned to smiling, though it looked muted and fake.

“Is everything okay?” Hajime asked immediately.

“It’s fine, just Daichi,” Suga waved it off, though this caused even more alarm. The two of them were best friends — they had been since middle school. What could Sawamura have said that made his mood falter like that?

“Are you sure—”

“It’s okay! Really!” Suga interrupted Hajime this time, shaking his head. His fingers played with the hem of his shirt beneath his apron. More quietly, he admitted, “I just, um, need a minute, I think.”

“You can go early, if you’d like,” Hajime put a hand on his shoulder comfortingly, and felt his whole body soften when Suga leaned into the touch. Watching Suga deflate like that was heartbreaking; he was usually so optimistic and positive. “Your shift’s almost done, anyway. You’ve been here since seven. Tanaka will be here soon to take over, and I can handle the thirty minutes in between.”

“No, it’s okay, I’d hate to ditch you like that,” Suga raised his hands defensively, but Hajime lowered them gently with his own.

“I mean it, Suga. If somethings upsetting you I don’t want you to worry about work on top of it,” Hajime said sternly. Suga brightened a little, his eyes sparkling, though that might have been from tears. 

“You called me Suga,” he smiled, and he looked like he meant it a little more this time. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, and began to untie the apron from behind his back. “Thank you, Iwaizumi. You’re too kind, really.” He raised the apron over his head, andwalked a few paces to the right to hang it up on the wall.

“You can stay and talk about it, if you want,” Oikawa spoke up suddenly, and he’d lost all of the original venom in his gaze. He looked concerned, and it made Hajime smile a little to himself. “I can leave, if you’d rather not me be here while you do—”

“Ah, no that’s alright, thanks, Oikawa,” Suga smiled at him appreciatively. “I just need to be by myself for a bit.” He nodded to Hajime before he exited the area behind the counter, clutching his phone in one hand and pocketing the other in his jeans. “Thanks again, Iwaizumi. I’ll see you two tomorrow!”

There was a “see you!” from the two still standing across from one another at the counter before Suga left the bakery, looking at his phone again with his shoulders hunched over slightly. Hajime watched him go until he was out of sight, and then proceeded to frown at the doorway when he was.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Oikawa asked, biting his lip.

“I don’t know,” Hajime pursed his own. “He makes the most of everything, and he’s always been really patient and positive. But if it’s Sawamura, then I don’t know. They’re pretty much inseparable — I don’t know what he did that would have made Suga so upset.”

“Me neither,” Oikawa frowned. “I hope they figure it out. I like Suga. He’s . . . refreshing.”

Hajime quirked an eyebrow, mood lifting slightly.

“You were totally jealous.”

“I was not jealous!” Oikawa protested a little too quickly, cheeks flushed. “I might have just felt threatened by another pretty boy in my presence.”

Hajime chuckled because yeah, there was no arguing with that.

“He’s the one who we were going to persuade to set for us, if you hadn’t come along,” Hajime mentioned. “He’s really talented too — great at reading people. But he tutors a lot because he loves to teach, and so he didn’t really have the time.”

“What a shame,” Oikawa sighed sarcastically. “He might have taken my place on the team as the pretty setter.”

“Yeah,” Hajime agreed, sounding purposefully resentful. “What a shame.” 

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa squawked. Hajime laughed at his reaction, causing Oikawa to pout in return. They’d settled back into their natural rhythm, Suga’s dilemma floating into the back of their minds. Hajime remembered he was technically still working, even if Oikawa was the only one in the bakery. It was an awfully slow day today — most of the customers had come around 8, when Hajime’s shift had started.

“You want anything?”

“Why are you so much ruder to me than everyone else?” Oikawa replied instead, sticking his tongue out childishly. “I get that you’re envious of my natural charm, Iwa-chan, but that’s no excuse for poor customer service.”

“Fine,” Hajime rolled his eyes once before putting on the most sardonic smile he could muster, ensuring his voice was equally as patronizing as he spoke. “Is there anything you’d like to order?”

He added a sarcastic little wiggle to his eyebrows for effect, but his smile became less forced when Oikawa laughed as a result, his voice bubbling with glee.

“That’s better,” Oikawa teased, grinning. “Just a loaf of milk bread, please,” he added with a wink, thankfully deciding not to terrorize Hajime any further. Hajime moved to the display case, lifting the glass in the back to take a loaf from there. He watched Oikawa’s eyes gaze around at the pastries on display, lingering on some of the animal-shaped breads and meringues Hajime had made that morning.

“Do you make these yourself?” He asked, gesturing. Hajime was packaging his loaf in some plastic wrap, but looked over his shoulder to see what Oikawa was pointing to. He caught the little amused smile on Oikawa’s face as he examined Hajime’s expertly-baked frog bread, which had been awfully popular with the girls lately.

“Yeah, can’t make my parents do all the work,” Hajime replied, shrugging.

“They look really nice,” Oikawa complimented. “I didn’t expect you’d have so much attention to detail.”

Hajime snorted, returning to hand Oikawa the loaf. “Why? ‘Cause I’m a brute?”

“Perhaps,” Oikawa wiggled his eyebrows. “You’re full of surprises, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime went red, mind instantly going to his miraculous, and he fought the urge to touch his earrings.

“And you’re full of shit,” Hajime replied, regaining his composure.

Oikawa only grinned, irritating him further. Hajime thought he was going to go, but he instead lingered at the counter for a few moments longer. In fact, he leaned over, resting his elbows on the counter to peer up at Hajime, weight shifted into his heels. His long eyelashes batted flirtatiously from his lower angle, and it made Hajime swallow thickly. 

“What are you doing later today?” He asked, and Hajime blinked in surprise. Sure, he admittedly did like Oikawa enough to consider him a friend, and Oikawa must have too, but surely he had better things to do on a Sunday than hang out with Hajime.

“Um, go to the gym, probably?” He replied as though it were a question. “Come back and shower, finish my homework, then take over the 5 pm shift. Why?”

“But that’s so boring,” Oikawa frowned at him. “It’s a Sunday, and we don’t even have that much homework yet.”

Hajime rolled his eyes at him. “So? If you’re trying to drag me out to do something with you it’s not going to work.”

It was definitely going to work, because Oikawa had some way of dragging him into everything by the wrist, and Hajime didn’t even mind that much, despite how much he protested. Oikawa studied him for a moment before snapping his fingers triumphantly.

“What if I treat you to lunch?”

“What if I pick the most expensive restaurant in Tokyo?”

“You underestimate me, Iwa-chan,”Oikawa smirked, even though they both knew Hajime wouldn’t do that. “Besides, who said you’re picking?”

“I’ll go if I can pick.”

That took Oikawa by surprise. His eyebrows lifted pleasantly, and Hajime let himself admire the way his eyes lit up like stars.

“Okay fine then, you can pick,” Oikawa grinned, clearly pleased. “Where are we going?”

“You know that tofu place down the street?” Hajime asked, leaning over the counter to meet Oikawa’s eye level, his forearms against the table, biceps flexing with supporting his body weight. He watched Oikawa track the movement for a second before blinking abruptly. He put a thoughtful expression onto his face, looking everywhere but at Hajime, who was trying to pretend like he hadn’t noticed and fight back his smile.

“Why am I not surprised you like tofu?” Oikawa finally looked at him again. “So boring.”

“What? It’s good for you,” Hajime rolled his eyes with a slight smirk on his face. “At least I’m not some loser who comes into bakeries to order a whole loaf of milk bread and pester the employees.”

“Don’t insult my refined tastes, you caveman,” Oikawa retorted, though it was lighthearted. “And it’s hard not to pester the employee when he’s an easy target.”

Hajime quirked an eyebrow.

“Did you just demote me from brute to caveman?”

“What are you gonna do about it?”

“Force feed you tofu at around,” he paused, checking his watch. “Twelve-thirty?”

“Works for me.”

Oikawa stood back up and clutched his milk bread more tightly to himself. He raised a graceful hand to wave Hajime goodbye. Hajime waved back, and he busied himself with restocking the display case when he heard the bells to the door chime to signal his departure. When he was sure the boy was gone, the reality of his promise just hit. He was going to get lunch with Tooru Oikawa — in _three hours._ Hajime groaned to himself in the emptiness of the bakery, and Kuroo dared reappear from beneath a pile of rolls in the back.

“Now you’ve done it, commoner,” Kuroo teased. “You’ve roped yourself into a date with the Grand King.”

This was a nickname Hanamaki had given Oikawa as the “Grand King of Volleyball,” to which Hajime replied that he was more like “The Grand King of Whining and Being a Little Shit.” 

“Good God,” Hajime put off scolding Kuroo about hiding in the bread to sulk in his self-pity. “It’s not a date,” he paused, rubbing circles into his temples. “Is it bad that I’m looking forward to it?”

Kuroo laughed in response. “Look at you, in love with your setter.”

“I’m not in love with anybody!” Hajime denied, cheeks flushing. “Ugh, why did I let myself get pulled into that? Kuroo, please just shut me up next time.”

“By what means?”

“Any means.”

“You’re going to regret that.”

“I know.”

*/**.__.**\\*

After sharing the final third of his shift with Saeko Tanaka, he had the chance to go upstairs and get ready for his impromptu outing. Hangout? Lunch date? Was it even a date? No, Oikawa had to like him _back_ for it to be a date. He sighed again into his hands.

“Quit moping. I know you daydream about going on a date with him at least twice a day.”

Hajime started, staring at Kuroo in horror.

“You can see my daydreams?!”

Kuroo only cackled in reply, and Hajime realized he’d just gotten played. He couldn’t believe he’d just been tricked into admitting something stupid like that.

“Fuck you,” he grumbled, tossing a pillow at Kuroo. This was ineffective, as it simply passed through the kwami as if he weren’t even there, and he sent him an unimpressed look.

“You’d better hurry up, or you’ll be late.”

“I’ve got two hours,” Hajime rolled his eyes.

“You haven’t showered, or shaved,” Kuroo pointed out. “You look like a homeless man in the streets of New York. Do you even know what you’re gonna wear?”

When Hajime gestured to the white t-shirt and blue jeans he was already wearing, his kwami shot him an exasperated stare.

“Go clean yourself up, you hobo,” Kuroo chided. “I’ll pick out an outfit for you, because clearly you’re hopeless.”

“Okay fine,” Hajime grumbled. “You’ve got fifteen minutes.”

Hajime took a quick shower, wincing occasionally when he heard the clattering of his hangers in his closet. Kwamis didn’t have hands, did they? Hajime had seen Kuroo pick things up before, but moving all of his clothes around must be a difficult task for a creature so small, right? Then again, Kuroo technically was an immortal being who had existed since the creation of the universe, so Hajime couldn’t put it past him.

He obediently shaved, careful not to nick himself, squinting at his reflection in the fogged-up mirror to guide him. There was silence for a few moments, so Hajime figured Kuroo must have finished digging through his clothes. That is, until his voice was startlingly close.

“Pick one, Iwaizumi. Black or brown?”

Hajime jumped, nearly tearing a new cut into his chin with the way the razor shook in his hand at Kuroo’s sudden presence. The kwami was somehow holding one of Hajime’s belts on either side of him, looking at his owner expectantly. His eyes followed the drops of water down Hajime’s body, and he quickly covered himself with the shower curtain, soaking it in the process.

“Get out of here, I’m naked!” Hajime practically squeaked. “And I’m not wearing a belt!”

“Why not?” Kuroo frowned at him.

“Because my pants fit me and I’m not pretentious.”

“There’s nothing pretentious about accessorizing.”

Hajime snorted. “You sound like Oikawa. I have a feeling you like him better than me.”

“Oikawa wouldn’t need my help dressing himself,” Kuroo rolled his eyes. “It’s like I’m your mother or something.”

“I already have one of those, thanks, and she’s not picky about my clothing choices,” Hajime frowned. He looked between the two belts, finally acquiescing. “The black one, I guess.”

“Oh, good,” Kuroo sighed. “That goes with the rest of the outfit. The brown would have been terrible anyway.”

Hajime sputtered. “Why would you ask my opinion if there was a right answer?”

But Kuroo had already gone, somehow closing the door behind him. Hajime uncovered himself from the shower curtain, speeding up the process so he wouldn’t become subject to another spontaneous shower encounter.

After toweling his hair off, Hajime noticed that Kuroo had laid his clothes out for him on the sink, and he decided his kwami didn’t do half bad of a job. A pair of black pants partnered with a black button-up with green and blue floral patterns. The black belt laid atop of the pants, and along with it sat Hajime’s favorite silver necklace, which had a slender, rectangular pendant hanging from it. There was also a small-across-the-body bag that Hajime could hide Kuroo in while he was out.

He slid the pants on first (after his boxers, the drawer of which Hajime realized Kuroo must have rifled through), followed by the shirt and begrudgingly the belt. He left the top two undone and hooked the pendant around his neck. He debated whether or not to do his hair before deciding Oikawa would make fun of him if it was flopping around his forehead, and gelled it up like he normally did.

“You did a pretty good job,” he told Kuroo as he left the bathroom. Kuroo was flying between the closet and the bed, carrying one of many button-up shirts. He turned to look at Hajime carefully, and nodded when he deemed him worthy.

“Of course I did. You have a lot of button-ups that have practically collected dust. Why don’t you wear them?”

“I dunno. Too many buttons. I feel stuffy.”

Kuroo snorted. “You’re ridiculous.”

“No, you’re ridiculous,” Hajime argued. “Oikawa’s going to take one look at my outfit and get the impression that I’m actually _trying_.”

“Well aren’t you?”

No, he wanted to say, but that wasn’t true. If Oikawa hadn’t asked him to lunch, he wouldn’t have showered or shaved until after he went to the gym that day, and if he hadn’t already had his hair up he would have left it down. He sighed, and that was answer enough for Kuroo.

*/**.__.**\\*

“Iwa-chan! You’ve finally learned how to dress yourself! I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Hajime met Oikawa at the tofu joint about an hour later. He was already there, dressed the same as earlier but with his hair a little bouncier than before. Hajime was irritated with himself for noticing such details. He was just like all those girls at school who told him his hair improved every day, even though it looked more or less the same.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Hajime rolled his eyes. “Do you know what you want, yet?”

“Nope, I’ve never been here.” Oikawa took a long whiff of the savory scent drifting out the door of the restaurant. “Smells great, though.”

Hajime would agree. The smell of the restaurant had become familiar to him over the years — it was his favorite, and he’d probably had every menu item at least once. 

“The team eats here after good days, when we played well,” Hajime told him, holding the door open for the other and following him in. “There’s a lot of options — not just tofu. They’re a ramen bar too.”

The inside of the restaurant wasn’t much to speculate at, but the food certainly made up for it. Oikawa didn’t look like he minded the appearance, however. Instead, he looked fascinated, as if he’d never seen a normal restaurant before.

“Really? How interesting,” Oikawa remarked. He looked at Hajime expectantly, genuine curiosity on his face. “And how would you define playing well?”

“I don’t know, it’s hard to describe,” Hajime thought about it. “But you can feel it. When everybody’s feeding off each other’s energy and we’re all in sync because we can feel each other’s rhythms. It’s like we’re all different parts of the same being, operating as one.”

He’d gotten lost in his rambling for a moment there, and he expected Oikawa to laugh. By then, they were up to order, and Hajime ordered his usual agedashi tofu. Oikawa must have panicked, because he ordered the first thing on the overhead menu which Hajime figured would be far too spicy for him. He didn’t bother to correct his order, though, so Hajime decided to let him be. They then moved to sit beside each other at a table, taking stools right next to each other. A man was slurping ramen on a stool at the bar, and the news was playing on a television above him.

“That’s really cool.”

Hajime blinked twice, Oikawa’s awed remark taking him by surprise. Oikawa looked fascinated, eyes sparkling with excitement. It took Hajime a moment to realize he was talking about Hajime’s description of the team playing well.

“It’s just that I’ve never felt anything like that with a group of people before,” the setter continued, seeming slightly embarrassed. “I’m excited to feel it with you all.”

And there we went again, twisting Hajime’s poor heart into a million knots. Seriously, how could he be so irritating and so endearing at the same time? Hajime wanted to hug him then, but he knew Oikawa would never stop teasing him about it, so he restrained himself.

“We’re excited to feel it with you too,” Hajime said genuinely. “Everybody’s really glad you’re on the team, you know. Even me. I’m like, the most glad.”

This time, Oikawa hugged _him_ , flinging his arms around Hajime and burying his face into his shoulder. Hajime froze, heart accelerating like crazy while his mind went absolutely blank. He stiffly removed an arm from Oikawa’s tight grasp, ruffling his hair affectionately with his hand. It was mind-numbingly soft, and Hajime felt like he could just sit there and run his hands through it forever.

“Iwa-chan, I’m gonna cry!” Oikawa sobbed, though there weren’t actually any tears. Hajime realized he probably been petting him too long, and so he grabbed a fistful of Oikawa’s hair, yanking the boy away from his shoulder. Oikawa looked at him affrontedly, and Hajime bit back a chuckle at his expression.

“Don’t get your snot on my shirt, Snottykawa,” Hajime scowled at him, though it was weak. Oikawa frowned at him, Sero Kline his nose childishly.

“I don’t like that one very much,” he said, and Hajime did laugh that time.

Their food came a few seconds later, and Hajime had to let go of Oikawa’s hair, which the other boy quickly fixed, carding nimble fingers through it until it was more or less in its usual cloud of waves. Their food came a few seconds later, and after a quick “thank you for the food,” Oikawa started to prod around the side dishes, obviously wary of eating the actual tofu. He surprised Hajime with a sudden question as he maneuvered a leaf of lettuce into his mouth.

“Iwa-chan, why don’t you have a girlfriend?”

Hajime wasn’t sure how to respond to this. A few months ago, his answer to this question would have been “oh, it’s just not for me right now.” But now? His answer was “because I like _you_ ,” and he definitely couldn’t say that out loud. He’d had a girlfriend once before, and though Terumi was incredibly sweet, they didn’t work out.

She and Hajime were like opposites, but not in a bad way. While he came off as loud and talkative, Terumi was shy and kept to herself. They met in the middle of their first year because they’d both sustained injuries from their specific sports (she was a ballet dancer) and their hospital rooms were across from one another. He came to visit her because he figured she might be lonely, and when she started to open up to him she got more talkative, while he showed her the more reserved side of himself that most people didn’t see.

They’d ended up in the same class during their second year, and he was the only one she’d talk to. Hanamaki and Matsukawa always slipped away unexpectedly during lunchtimes to leave the two of them alone, which Hajime appreciated then, because he really liked her. He was awkward about it, but she said she liked that, and so after months of romantic tension he finally asked Terumi if she’d go on a date with him.

They were happy, for that month that they were dating, but Hajime rarely ever got to see her outside of school. There was a lot going on at that time, and he was always too busy to make time for her, which in turn made him feel terrible about asking her out in the first place. She deserved better, he knew she did, so when she finally broke up with him it was a bit relieving, even if he knew he would miss her.

Now though, she was in his class again (she sat beside Ushijima, actually), and the two of them were still getting along well. If it weren’t for Oikawa, Hajime figured he’d probably still have feelings for her.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “It’s not a priority of mine. I feel like I’m doing fine on my own without dating.” He shrugged. “I had a girlfriend once for a month and it kind of stressed me out. She was really nice, but she ended up dumping me because I was always busy with work and volleyball.”

Oikawa appeared scandalized at this news. 

“Really? But you’re such a catch!”

“Are you trying to get me to pay for your food?” Hajime looked at him suspiciously. Oikawa shook his head fervently, hair bouncing along with him. 

“No, I’m being serious!”

“I was going to, anyway,” Hajime said, still slightly disbelieving. “You don’t have to flatter me for it.”

“Come on, look at you! You’re such a gentleman, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa replied smugly, as this had proven his point.

“So am I a caveman or a gentleman?” Hajime countered. “Make up your mind.”

Oikawa seemed to ponder this for a moment, expression deep in thought.

“I’d say a gentle-caveman,” Oikawa concluded. “If we were of the same tribe, I would ask you to take me on cave-dates all the time.”

Hajime flushed at this, the warm feeling spreading through his body again. It was unfair; Oikawa probably didn’t know about Hajime’s feelings for him. Otherwise, he wouldn’t tease him like this. Maybe he would. Did Oikawa even like boys? Aside from the comments about Hajime’s appearance, he’d never talked about liking guys before.

If Hajime had fallen for a straight man, he would never forgive himself.

“Have you ever had a girlfriend?” He asked. Oikawa shook his head, much to Hajime’s incredulity.

“I’ve been homeschooled until recently, and my father won’t let me date anyway.”

Ah, that would make sense, then.

“I’m too busy for a girlfriend, to be honest,” Oikawa sighed theatrically. “Being so talented and amazing takes up too much of my time.”

Oikawa finally took a piece of his tofu between his chopsticks, plopping it in his mouth to punctuate his point. However, the effect was ruined when he suddenly started coughing, swallowing weakly. He grabbed Hajime’s shoulder with one hand, fanning his mouth with the other, and Hajime bit back a laugh as he passed the other boy his glass of water. He took a long, grateful gulp, Hajime desperately trying not to stare too much at his throat as he did.

When Oikawa set the glass down, his eyes met Hajime’s and he didn’t pull away. Hajime felt paralyzed under his gaze, until his hand idly slid down Hajime’s arm, fingertips making contact with his skin. Hajime wrenched it away, flushing.

“Ew, quit touching me,” he scowled. “Your annoying personality might rub off on me.”

“You said ‘angelic’ wrong,” Oikawa looked at him pointedly. “And I’d like to see you try some, then.”

“Sure,” Hajime accepted the challenge, glad for the change of subject, and Oikawa grabbed another piece of his tofu with his chopsticks. He reached across the table toward Hajime’s mouth. Hajime wrinkled his nose.

“I’m not an infant, you don’t have to feed it to me.”

“I do aim to please,” Oikawa winked. Hajime felt heat rush to his face at the way Oikawa was looking at him.

“Don't say shit like that, it makes me feel like I’m in a shitty porno.”

“You’d let me touch you if this were a porno.”

“This is exactly what I mean.”

Begrudgingly, Hajime leaned forward and closed his mouth around the tofu between Oikawa’s chopsticks. He glared at the other boy as he did so, pulling away to chew and leaving the chopsticks tofu-free. The tofu was hot, both in spice and temperature, but Hajime chewed through it nonetheless. He deemed it satisfactory, swallowing, and gestured to his own plate.

“We can swap, if you want,” he offered. “You’ll probably like mine better, anyway.”

Oikawa sputtered.

“How are you fine?!”

Hajime hated himself for what he was about to say next, but he couldn’t help it.

“You think I’m _fine_ , Oikawa?” He asked with a cheeky grin. The furious face Oikawa made in response was worth the remorse of even making such a joke in the first place.

“Eugh,” Oikawa shuddered. “It’s not cute when _you_ do it.”

“Looks like your rotten personality did rub off on me after all,” Hajime chided, stealing another piece of tofu from Oikawa’s plate. “Now eat your food before it gets cold.”

Oikawa moodily helped himself to some of Hajime’s tofu, brightening after he tasted it. He hastily took another piece, and Hajime had to a fight back a laugh at his eagerness. For a pompous asshole, he was awfully cute eating from Hajime’s plate. It felt domestic, and though it was Hajime’s favorite and anyone else would have suffered his wrath from taking his food, he did still enjoy the spicy tofu from Oikawa’s plate — even if he had to drink more water than he’d planned.

They finished their food in a comfortable silence, and were splitting the bill (after some arguing, they’d decided that they’d both just pay) when the sound of a glass shattering came from behind the bar.

Both of them looked up to see what the cause of the crash was, only to see the woman behind the bar staring at the television in horror. Hajime followed her gaze, and his throat went dry when he saw what was playing on the news.

**ARMED SUPERVILLAIN TERRORIZES TOKYO DEMANDING “MIRACULOUS” — AUTHORITIES FAILING TO STOP HIM.**

The camera angle was shaky, and tilted, but from what Hajime could gather, the villain was airborne, hovering over the rooftops and blasting what looked like red bubbles at the streets below. People were screaming beneath him, and Hajime watched with growing fear as the bubbles swallowed up the people that they hit and sent them floating into the air. Before he could blink, the screen tinged red, and the camera angle floated higher and higher into the air, giving the viewers a solid angle of the villain. Hajime’s heart caught in his throat, because he’d only just seen those copper eyes this morning.

Suga.

Everything else about him was morphed and discolored, like he’d been drawn and colored by a child in the dark with a box containing merely 8 crayons. His hair was longer, and cherry red, skin tinged a bright yellow, while the apples of his cheeks blushed a startling blue. His eyes were the same, but they weren’t the Suga he was used to seeing. They were deranged, furious, and it took all of Hajime two seconds to realize what had happened.

The first victim had been akumatized, and it ended up being _Suga._

The screen went fuzzy before a “technical difficulties” message popped up, and this was enough to break the initial shock and send the restaurant into a panic. When he turned to look back at Oikawa, he looked equally horrified, and Hajime wondered what it was like to be just as unsuspecting as any of the other people here. What was it like to not have had this moment in the back of your mind, to not have been _waiting_ for it to happen? He could imagine their shock, their fear. But they couldn’t imagine his, because he was the one who actually had to face this new, unknown threat.

“Holy shit, what’s going on?”

“Isn’t that near here?”

“What kind of psychopath is that?”

“He’s getting closer! Run!”

And they did. Oikawa gripped Hajime’s forearm and leaned in so as not to get hit by the stampede of people running for the door. Hajime held him close, determined to make sure Oikawa was safe, first and foremost. Some of the smarter people were maneuvering toward the bathrooms of the restaurant, out of sight and out of harms away from the outside. After just a minute, Oikawa and Hajime were alone in the dining section of the restaurant, still holding onto each other.

“Am I crazy?” Oikawa breathed, wide-eyed. “Or was that Suga?”

Hajime gulped, unable to say it aloud because that would make it _real_. This was enough answer for Oikawa.

“But . . . what happened to him?”

“I don’t know.”

Hajime hated lying, but he really hated lying to Oikawa. Especially because he looked so terrified, and _worried_ in that instance. He looked so afraid, and Hajime wanted to tell him that he’d fix it, and that it all was going to be okay. But before he could do that, he had to find an excuse to be alone to transform.

“We have to go help him,” Oikawa said suddenly, pushing himself off of Hajime and getting to his feet. His worry had hardened into resolve, and now he was looking directly out the window, where a mass of people could be seen running.

“We can’t,” Hajime stood soon after him, gripping Oikawa’s shoulder with his hand. “He’s not himself. We can’t be sure he’ll even listen to us.”

Hajime knew Suga’s emotions had gotten the best of him, and he regretted not talking the other boy through whatever had happened. However, there was no time for regrets. He had to look forward and figure out a solution — for the sake of Suga and the city.

“So then what are we gonna do?” Oikawa cried, eyes panicked. “We can’t let him attack innocent people like this. We’ve got to do _something_!” Before he could protest, Oikawa was running toward the door, turning the corner and sprinting forward against the crowd. Hajime chased after him, but the amount of bodies running the opposite direction became too much. The people pushed and pushed, and despite Hajime’s efforts to pull forward it seemed every step he advanced was another five feet he’d taken back.

“Oikawa!” He shouted. “Don’t you dare go getting hurt, you idiot!”

He wasn’t sure Oikawa heard him, because by then he was out of sight. Mentally, he vowed that he’d do whatever he could to make sure everything turned out okay, and he wished he could have sent Oikawa off with that verbal reassurance.

Even though he now had something else to worry about, at least he was separated from Oikawa and had the chance to slip away and transform. He pushed himself into an alleyway, looking around first to check to see if he was really alone. Nobody else was around, and so Hajime unzipped his bag to see Kuroo already looking at him expectantly. There were few times Hajime had ever seen him look so serious.

“You ready, Iwaizumi?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he sighed, finally uttering the words he’d been waiting to say. “Kuroo, spots on.”

A surge of energy filled his body, making it tingle with what felt like light and electricity. Every muscle in his body thrummed with it as his clothes transformed into a skin-tight bodysuit. Red, with black spots, as he expected. He felt like he could accomplish anything, and he experimentally kicked his leg sideways into the air.

His foot was over his head.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. He was flexible too then. He’d punch the trash can nearby to see how far it went, but he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. He raised a hand (also covered by the bodysuit) to his face, feeling the material of a mask around his eyes. The transformation was complete.

Taking the yo-yo from the belt at his hips, he gave it an experimental swing toward one of the posts on the roof of the nearest building. He watched with fascination as the yo-yo spun around the pole, securing its position, and his heart nearly stopped beating as he felt himself being pulled off the ground.

“Woah!” He shouted, despite himself, and even though he made a secure landing on the roof, he was embarrassed by his inability to use his weapon. He should have taken Kuroo for a test run, or something. That would have been a good idea. They didn’t have much time to waste learning how to maneuver with his new powers. He’d get the hang of it eventually as he located Suga.

Now, to find his partner.

This didn’t take much time, however, because after a minute of swinging in the opposite direction he’d come from, he spotted an unusual black figure crouched on a balcony. Hajime redirected his path of travel, directing his yo-yo to loop around the railing of the balcony, and he landed with a semi-loud _thunk_ on one knee beside the person. The suit and the mask confirmed his theory — this was actually his partner, the one he’d been waiting to meet for a week now.

“Hey.”

His partner looked back at him, brown hair framing his face and falling slightly into his eyes. They were entirely green, like a cat’s, and a black mask similar to Hajime’s own spotted one covered the bridge of his nose and his eyebrows, which really made his eyes stand out. He was lithe in build, but muscular, and even his mannerisms were somewhat catlike. He had a little bell hanging below his neck, and from his hair protruded two black cat ears. 

His green eyes were wide, awed, as he stared back. 

“Hey.”

Hajime couldn’t shake the feeling that he looked oddly familiar.  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, so now that I’ve given you witty iwaoi, now here’s witty iwaoi + unimaginable levels of stupidity that come from kwami magic and just being dumb.  
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I’m working on the next one from Oikawa’s point of view, and I’ll probably be alternative POVS from here on out, but that’s not a total guarantee.  
> Anyway I’m really excited about this fic and I hope you are too! I love all so much and thank you for your support!


	3. encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tooru has his first encounter with an akumatized victim, a few minutes after having his first encounter with his partner.  
> He’s not sure which one makes him more nervous, because dealing with a massive crisis alongside a massive crush really only serves to massively complicate matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “every two weeks,” she says, as she updates a week later <3.  
> I felt bad for leaving y’all hanging lmao.  
> Featuring akumatized Suga, the poor boy, I’m so sorry I want to hug him.

  
  


  
Tooru believed he was an okayish person.

Tooru believed in a lot of things — things like superheroes, and magic, and aliens, and fate. Things most people didn’t believe in, but he did, because believing in them brought a little much-needed light into his life.

And anyway, with how much was out there in the universe that humanity had yet to discover, let alone explore; he thought it was awfully presumptuous of humanity to decide what did and what didn’t exist.

Those things and volleyball had really been the only aspects of Tooru’s life that weren’t drab, or clean-cut, or depressing. Tooru had been the literal poster boy for perfection since he had braces, and even before then too he’d had guidelines to follow all day, every day. Don’t leave the house without permission and supervision. Don't attempt things by yourself; if you hurt yourself, it’ll be more trouble for everyone else. _Do_ put your best foot forward, and maintain your ever-so-perfect appearance in the eyes of the public. But don’t shame the family by actively associating with those in the lower class.

A lot of rules. Really, really stupid rules, in Tooru’s opinion.

But those rules didn’t matter now, because now, he had something of his own that was a secret. And it was something _reckless, dangerous, risky_. There were no rules here, other than capture the akuma, save the city, and don’t let your partner down. Tooru was more than willing, leaping at the chance to finally be able to _do_ something.

He was a firm believer in fate. What other than fate could have struck him with that sudden urge to sneak out that Monday morning? What other than fate could have given him that stroke of disobedience, the fire that ignited in his brain that told him to do something _rebellious_?

Perhaps the previous argument he’d had with his father about being neglected, but then again, fate certainly played a hand in him actually making do on his impulsive thoughts. Fate was what sent him laughing softly to himself between pants of breath, careening through the halls of Aoba Johsai high into an empty locker room as he ran to escape his bodyguard. Fate is what drove him into meeting a bewildered, irritable Hajime Iwaizumi — fully clothed, for some reason — in a shower stall. Tooru recalled thinking to himself that this would make a very interesting “How I Met Your Father” story, but after a few days he was also partial to the “How I Met My Best Friend” story.

Tooru honestly might have considered the “Father” route (or rather, maybe just the “crush” route) if it weren’t for what had happened directly after, which was the classic “How I Met My Kwami and Accidentally Became a Superhero” story. Maybe not classic, per say, but certainly something he wanted to include in his autobiography.

As soon as he’d left the locker room, mind torn between making a quick, seamless escape from the school and Iwaizumi’s _gorgeous_ arms (because seriously, those should be illegal), he’d made a sharp turn and pushed himself up against the wall of the school. The coast was clear, as far as he could tell, and he tiptoed forward until he heard a door creak open on its hinges.

He froze.

Dropping to his knees behind the dumpster, he dared peek out from the side. His bodyguard stood there, all tense lines and livid expression. Tooru tried desperately not to breathe too loudly. However, he wasn’t even looking Tooru’s direction. Instead, his gaze was trained on somebody in front of him.

“Have you seen a boy? About this tall?”

“I’m sorry, I’m blind,” came the reply, sounding somewhat scratchy with age.

“My apologies, then,” his bodyguard bowed. “I’ll look elsewhere.”

The sound of his footsteps faded away, as the creak of another dumpster opening filled the quiet. Tooru dared stand, now, silently watching the old man trying to lift his bag of garbage into the trash. Trying being the operative word, because he wasn’t having much luck.

Tooru frowned; yeah he might get caught, but he should really help him. Especially after he saved Tooru from his bodyguard (albeit unknowingly).

“Do you need some help, sir?” Tooru asked, pretending as though he hadn’t just emerged from behind the dumpster.

The man perked up, looking around and staring somewhere in Tooru’s general direction.

“It’s quite alright, I should have separated it beforehand — it’s awfully heavy, but I’ll manage.”

Tooru was already beside him, however, helping him by lifting the bag into the garbage himself. He had to be careful not to spill, because it wasn’t closed properly at the end. The stench was rancid, but he dealt with it anyway.

“Thank you,” the man said. “Could you close that for me? I can’t see it myself. I’m blind.”

“Of course,” Tooru was happy to oblige, especially since the scent was so bad. He turned back toward the dumpster, preparing to close it, when a box at the top of the bag caught his eye. He frowned, peering closer, because it really didn’t look like something that belonged in the trash. Despite himself, he reached in and plucked it out, holding it out to his side.

“Did you mean to throw away this box? It looks awfully—”

Tooru stopped mid-sentence, because suddenly the man was nowhere to be seen. He looked around wildly, because there was no way he could have disappeared so fast.

“Expensive,” he finished to himself. He closed the dumpster, deciding to keep the box opposed to throwing it away. He took his walk home to examine it closer. Though he’d made a successful escape, now all he wanted to do was get home and investigate it. It looked ancient and traditional, the designs hinting it was made somewhere in East or Southeast Asia. He wondered why a blind man would have this in his possession, and how it had ended up in the trash.

He was able to slip back into the Oikawa penthouse the same way he’d gotten out, and, for good measure, sent a cheeky selfie of himself in his room to his bodyguard before returning his attention to the box. He opened it with mild interest, wondering what was inside, when he was taken surprise by a sudden flash of green light.

He hadn’t been expecting anything well, miraculous, as Kenma’s first words upon seeing him were, “oh no.”

He hadn’t even cared to wonder what that meant, however, because he was far too caught up in the fact that a tiny, bobblehead-sized cat was floating in the air in front of him.

“Oh my God. Are you an alien?” He’d asked breathlessly. 

Kenma had given him a deadpan, unimpressed look.

“I’m a kwami. My existence began soon after the creation of the universe,” Kenma had explained, though he didn’t know Kenma’s name was Kenma until a few minutes later, after he’d explained the nature of kwamis and miraculouses, like the ring Tooru had plucked from the box and slid onto his finger. His kwami sounded bored, and a little exasperated. He wondered how Kenma could be so tired after being stuck in the ring for so long. Tooru knew he would have been anxious to get out.

Kenma also explained his new responsibilities, and the mission he’d have to complete with his partner to find and stop the holder of the Butterfly miraculous. Tooru was looking forward to being a part of something important, for once. Doing something helpful of his own will and taking risks to get there. The idea thrilled him as much as it scared him. Still, the first attack was yet to occur, and so the new aspect of his life he’d had to face first was attending public school.

Public school was a lot more than he expected, but he didn’t mind that at all.

First of all came the fan club, which he was certainly not expecting on his first day. He felt bad for Iwaizumi, whose locker was often blocked off because it was right beside Tooru’s. The girls showered him with compliments, gifts, things Tooru didn’t know what to do with other than thank them hastily and put them somewhere for later. It wasn’t like he wasn’t grateful for them, of course he was, but he felt somewhat overwhelmed by the sheer amount of affection.

Luckily, Iwaizumi had showed up and given him and excuse to be pulled out of that. Homeroom was fine, for the first few seconds, until a familiar voice made him startle on his feet.

“Hello, Oikawa.”

Ushijima had appeared, eyes trained on him with their unwaveringly intense gaze. He’d forgotten he would be in his class, and missed the few moments he’d been blissfully unaware. Ushijima was intense, all the time. Even his resting face was intense. Tooru had appreciated it at first, having someone who matched his level of intensity, but now it had just become irritating. He didn’t respond, instead turning and walking away. He could hear Iwaizumi apologizing on his behalf, but tuned him out. Meanwhile, Hanamaki and Matsukawa were sharing a bewildered look, but upon seeing Tooru’s peeved expression, they didn’t mention it. 

Ushijima didn’t pursue him. He’d gotten used to Tooru’s cold shoulder, and so he simply returned to Tendou (Ushijima’s mother called him Satori, rather affectionately he may add) and the two struck up a conversation, all while Tendou glared daggers at Tooru. Tooru had faced worse things than Tendou’s death stare, but it made him shiver nonetheless.

It wasn’t his fault Ushijima couldn’t take a hint.

Sure, their families were friends, but that didn’t mean that they were. They used to be, but something between them had gone rotten over the years — or at least, it had onTooru’s end. Maybe it was that Ushijima got to go to public school, while Tooru was stuck staring at the wall at home. Maybe it was that Ushijima actually got to do the things he liked, because he had a loving mother who cared about him as more than a business opportunity. Maybe it was that Ushijima got to play on a volleyball team and Tooru was stuck by himself almost all the time, now, because Ushijima was the only friend he was allowed to have.

“I still don’t know what your problem with him is,” Iwaizumi had said during lunch, frowning at him. Tooru was miffed, though he knew he shouldn’t be. After all, Ushijima and Iwaizumi had been teammates for years before he’d even met Tooru. Tooru knew he was biased, and his grudge was unfounded, but he couldn’t help himself from being a little annoyed that Iwaizumi was defending him.

“He’s tactless, and annoying,” Tooru had said, but what he really meant was that it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that _he_ was the one who had been locked up in a life made of tabloids and neglect. It wasn’t fair that _he_ was the one who had to practice reactions in the mirror while Ushijima could remain stoic and unbothered.

But then volleyball practice came about, and all grievances had been forgotten. It had taken persuading from Ushijima’s mother, but Tooru’s father allowed him to try out for the volleyball team. Tooru was thankful for her — she’d done a lot of persuading in his favor, probably because she felt bad for him. She was the one who suggested Tooru start playing in the first place.

“Wakatoshi wants to be like his dad,” she’d said, with a fond but weary sort of expression. “But he really needs a setter, and I think you’d be perfect.”

So Tooru had devoted hours of his empty time to learning how to toss properly, and later hit killer jump serves and receive balls that seemed to travel at the speed of light. Part of what made him so good is having another skilled player work with him — they met each other’s levels, and pushed each other to do better.

But one day, Ushijima was suddenly busy all the time, with _public_ school and the volleyball _team_ he was on, and Tooru’s motivation slowly morphed into beating him where previously it had been matching him.

“How long have you played?” Iwaizumi had asked him in the gym. Tooru wasn’t sure which answer was more accurate — eight years or never.

“Well, I’ve never actually played on a team, per say,” he’d replied. “But I taught myself almost everything from watching other people play. I practiced with Ushiwaka — mostly because he begged me to, of course — but he’s the only one I’ve actually tossed to.”

He could tell Iwaizumi didn’t have much confidence in him, but he wished Tooru luck anyway. Tooru had to bite back his smirk — he wanted to see the look of shock on dear Iwa-chan’s face. He’d appeared impressed with Tooru’s receives — they were remarked, after all those house he’d spent receiving serves from Ushijima.

“Not bad.”

“Thanks, _captain_.”

Tooru made sure to draw out the word in the way he knew would make Iwaizumi fluster. He wasn’t sure exactly why he liked pushing Iwaizumi’s buttons so much. Maybe it was because he was a bit of an asshole, or maybe he just wanted a reason to talk to the other boy. To be honest, Tooru didn’t have all that many friends, but he liked Iwaizumi. Probably because he treated Tooru just like any other human being. Not some child that had to be protected, or somebody on a pedestal of fame and fortune.

He wasn’t “Tooru Oikawa” to Iwaizumi, he was just Oikawa.

It sounded sort of masochistic, but he actually liked when Iwaizumi was rude to him. It was the same way he treated Makki and Mattsun, who had been his best friends for years.

He liked the normalcy Iwaizumi treated him with — he liked feeling like a normal kid.

After tryouts, he’d thanked Tooru for joining the team, and Tooru had wanted to hug him so badly, but didn’t. He wasn’t sure what was stopping him. Maybe he just didn’t want to take his chances, or maybe he was worried he’d give Iwaizumi the wrong (right) idea. Because as attractive as he was, and as much as Tooru liked him, he didn’t want to accidentally push the other boy away.

He was surprised when Iwaizumi had said he’d been fine with Ushijima in the place he would have been in the starting lineup. Iwaizumi was still an incredible player, and the fact he didn’t see himself as such honestly irked Tooru a little. He personally thought Iwaizumi was incredible — he gave so much of himself to others, was the voice of reason to those who needed it, and he never asked anything for himself in return. He made Tooru wish he was a better person.

He was worried about bringing up his father to Iwaizumi. Tooru didn’t like most of the people his father approved of, so what horrid thing had Iwaizumi done to get on his good side? But apparently, the other boy hadn’t even known he’d met Tooru’s father in the first place.

He’d also been trying to avoid talking about his mother and his shitty childhood, fearing Iwaizumi would think less of him or only be around him because he felt bad. But then he’d proceeded to give Tooru the most aggressively inspiring speech he’d ever received. The first words he’d said had stuck with Tooru ever since that moment.

_You deserve better._

Tooru had agreed at first, after wallowing in self-pity for so many years. But as the days went by, he realized he was happy with how his life was, now that Iwaizumi was in it. He made him breakfast every day (though Tooru usually had to plead for it), kept him company on the walk home, even walking him back to the Oikawa residence after they’d spent some time at Iwaizumi’s apartment. Iwaizumi had been stunned into silence by the Oikawa penthouse, but Tooru much rather preferred the domestic calm of Iwaizumi’s sky-ceiling, and the loft bed that led to his simple balcony. Tooru spent time on the roof of his penthouse too, but there was so much going on and it’s expensive furnishings reminded Tooru of the life he was trapped in.

He’d showed Iwaizumi the way he’d escaped from the penthouse, which made the other boy scold him for being reckless, but with a fond voice and a caring hand on his arm.

He wondered if the vows he’d made were actually working. He’d known it was dumb to say your best friend vows with somebody you’d just met the day previous, but he really liked Iwaizumi, and it was mostly teasing anyway. If it weren’t for his miraculous, and the fact that his entire life was publicized, he would consider dating him.

Tooru wanted to be around him all the time, and initially he’d thought it was just him being clingy. But then he realized that he didn’t feel that way about Mattsun or Makki, and it was only Iwaizumi he wanted to be around every second of the day.

Maybe that’s why he’d called him so much, because hearing his voice was a reminder that he was still here, he wasn’t leaving, and he was friends with Tooru for Tooru. Not out of pity or for fame. Tooru felt like he needed Iwaizumi in his life, but he wouldn’t admit that aloud, and especially not after they’d only known each other for a week.

Hajime Iwaizumi was also hot, Tooru realized. He’d known this ever since meeting him, of course, but it was different then. He wasn’t the kind of hot he compared himself to in magazines for men’s clothing, or unnecessarily sensual perfume commercials. He was the kind of hot you’d see at an airport or an amusement park — the kind that would make you feel the need to fix your hair or walk in front of them to get their attention, even if it’s just a chance encounter. He was the kind of hot that didn’t involve trying — he was hot while he bit his pencil, hot while he talked to Makki and Mattsun, hot in his green apron at work.

The worst part was, he didn’t even seem to know it. Iwaizumi didn’t flaunt his good looks, or use them to get his way. He wore normal, unremarkable outfits, talked to people honestly, and was just so willing to give himself up for the sake of others. Whenever Tooru mentioned him being attractive, he would get all flustered about it, as if he didn’t already know. He probably didn’t.

Tooru admired him because he wanted to be like him. So blissfully unaware and uncaring of his outward appearance.

It wasn’t just him, though. The girls who weren’t swept up in Tooru’s initial debut stuck fast to Iwaizumi, who didn’t even make an effort to flirt with them. He just smiled and laughed and helped with whatever they needed, while Tooru watched from afar. Iwaizumi’s face was actually really nice to look at, when he wasn’t scowling, or threatening to throw Tooru across the street. If it weren’t for his responsibility distracting him from romance, Tooru might have really let himself fall for Iwaizumi’s humble attractiveness.

However, then came his partner. 

The initial “hey” had startled him — he hadn’t heard his partner land beside him because he was too absorbed in his own thoughts. When the first akuma attacked, he didn’t expect himself to be in public, nor had he expected the first victim to be Suga. Even if he did feel a little threatened by Suga’s friendship with Iwaizumi (which was stupid, because maybe Iwaizumi just has a knack for befriending pretty setters, and he’d known Suga before Tooru anyway), he’d been concerned when he’d watched his face drop earlier that day.

Tooru resolved that he’d find Sawamura after all this was done and demand an explanation.

But now, he’d been startled on the balcony by the appearance of his partner. He’d whipped around so fast that he felt his back pop, but that wasn’t nearly as shocking as the full appearance of the absolute _god_ in front of him. After roving over the contours of his muscles, Tooru’s eyes had a hard time staying on the other guy’s face. He fought for something witty to say.

“Took you long enough, Spot-sama.”

“Sorry, I got held up,” his partner replied, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. Tooru admired the light blush that came to his cheeks, the subdued tone of his voice. He was just as nervous as Tooru was, and that was reassuring.

“It’s okay — I can handle myself,” Tooru smiled showingly, though his usual smooth responses were coming out a little shaky. He wasn’t sure if it was his nerves at having to fight Suga, or his nerves at having an extremely attractive boy at his side doing the fighting with him.

“I’m sure you can, but I’m not going to let you do all the work,” the other boy _winked_ at him, and Tooru might as well just have fallen off the building. “What should I call you?”

 _Yours_.

“Catastrophe,” Tooru answered, the name he’d spent hours coming up with suddenly sounding incredibly stupid coming from his mouth. He definitely _felt_ like a catastrophe, looking at his partner’s incredible build and extremely handsome face — at least, the parts of it he could see. His eyes were an earthy sort of green, contrasting with his red suit, and his jaw was strong and chiseled. The tightness of his suit didn’t really leave much to the imagination, and his arms (possibly Tooru’s favorite feature) were large and defined, his legs just the same. Tree trunk thighs, muscular calves, and yeah, Tooru was absolutely screwed.

His partner laughed nervously again.

“Yeah, that, uh, sounds way better than what I came up with,” he shook his head. “Then again, I didn’t have much to work with.” He cleared his throat, extending his hand. “Blackspot. It’s nice to finally get to meet you.”

The fact that he was looking forward to this moment, despite the circumstances, made Tooru’s heart race in his chest.

“It’s a pleasure,” he replied, hand lingering on Blackspot’s for just a moment too long before finally resettling against his side. He cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to regain some sense of professionalism. “I was able to get a read on the villain. They have a magic staff kind of weapon that pretty much spits out indestructible bubbles and forces people into them.”

“Hm, interesting,” Blackspot mused, brow creasing. He seemed to be contemplating something for a moment before turning to Tooru with a anxious sort of expression. “I’m gonna take a guess and say you haven’t done any of this before either?”

Tooru shook his head, and his partner laughed again. He really liked the sound of his laugh. It was a deep sort of rumble, currently edged with nerves. Maybe he laughed when he was nervous — it was kind of cute

“Yeah, me neither,” Blackspot shook his head. “But we were chosen for a reason, right? So it’s up to us to put a stop to this.” Tooru froze as Blackspot reached forward and put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. Wherever you are, I’ll be right beside you, okay?”

“Yeah,” Tooru breathed, skin feeling like it was on fire. “Okay.”

There was no way he’d be able to focus on the akuma like this. _Breathe, Tooru. Put your gay thoughts away so you can take care of the crisis, you idiot._

“Let’s move in and see if we can get a closer look,” Blackspot turned his head to look at Suga as he unconsciously slid his hand down Tooru’s clothed bicep, resting to cup his elbow, and Tooru felt like he was swallowing his own heart. When he broke contact, Tooru found himself chasing the touch, and followed Blackspot as he turned the corner without even realizing. His partner turned to ensure Tooru was following him, and Tooru gave him an encouraging smile.

“Right beside you,” he said, repeating the other’s words from earlier. Blackspot smiled back at him, his shoulders relaxing, and he returned to moving slowly toward the villain. The akumatized Suga was currently wreaking havoc at the tofu place he and Iwaizumi had _just_ been eating at, and Tooru couldn’t help but wonder if he was okay. He had yet to get a text from him, though Tooru hadn’t texted him yet either. It was too late now, though, so he supposed he’d just let Iwaizumi believe he been scooped up into a bubble. He had sort of run recklessly toward the threat to transform anyway.

Now that Suga was coming into view, Tooru could see some of his features more clearly. Even his clothes were bright, flashy colors, and his smile wasn’t Suga-like at all. Tooru knew from Kenma how akumas worked, and that they used negative emotions as a gateway to the owner of the Butterfly miraculous, who then could give them powers and almost control them. Tooru wanted to save the city, of course, but he also really wanted to save Suga.

“Of course they’d target teenagers first,” Tooru shook his head, sighing. “They’re the most emotionally vulnerable, but they’re just kids.”

 _So are you_ , his brain reminded him, but he tried not to think about that too hard. After all, he was doing this of his own free will, while Suga was being emotionally manipulated. 

“It’s cruel, but it’s what we’ll have to expect,” Blackspot said, sounding equally sullen. “We’ll have to be careful. My Miraculous Ladybug will set everything back to normal, but I’m sure the trauma of being akumatized will be enough without us physically injuring them on top of it.”

Tooru thought it was awfully considerate of his partner to think about how the villains may feel after the whole experience, and his heart melted slightly at that. They were people too, and Blackspot was right. They had to do this as peacefully as possible. Tooru couldn’t bear to think about the guilt the poor boy would feel at the end of this, even if he didn’t remember everything.

Besides, Tooru knew on a personal level what it was like to be dehumanized and objectified by the public. He’d gotten used to it after dealing with it his whole life, but for Suga it would probably hurt way more to have everything attack him at once like a flock of vultures.

“Do you see what he’s holding?”

Blackspot was pointing at the hand which wasn’t occupied with the bubble-weapon. Tooru squinted to see that it was clutching a piece of paper, and he nodded. That must be where the akuma was hiding.

“Yeah. You think that’s it?”

“Definitely,” Blackspot nodded. “I just have a feeling.”

“I trust that,” Tooru nodded back. “Do you have a plan?”

“Not yet, but it’ll come to me at some point,” Blackspot admitted. “You think we’ll be able to fight him off? At this rate, we’ll be the only ones left in the city if we don’t attack soon.”

“Hm,” Tooru didn’t have much faith in himself, but he did in his partner. It didn’t really matter how much faith he had in either of them — they had to do this, one way or the other. “As long as we dodge the bubbles, we’ll be okay. They kind of just float off until they hit something, but unless it hits a person it just pops. See, look—” Tooru pointed at the bubbles popping against the wall of a building, where people were scrambling away, screaming. The panic had become background noise, at that point. The bubbles ricocheted off the building, but popped hardly a moment after. “I think if I twirl my staff fast enough, it can create a shield that will deflect them so we can get in closer.”

His partner stared at him in awe for a moment, but then frowned, spinning his own weapon around. It made a sort of whirring noise in the air, and Tooru had a feeling that if he stuck his finger into the rotation it would get sliced clean off. 

“I think I might be able to do the same, but we’ll have to see and just be prepared to dodge in case it doesn’t work,” Blackspot said. Then, with a slight grin, he added “how come you get a staff and I’m stuck with a yo-yo?”

Tooru snorted, despite himself.

“Maybe I’m just cooler than you.”

“Yeah, probably.”

Blackspot turned, thankfully, so he didn’t see Tooru blush. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

It was like their brains worked in synchronization. They jumped up onto the roof from the balcony, Blackspot using his yo-yo while Tooru used his staff. Dashing in opposite directions, they approached the akumatized Suga from opposite sides, Tooru jumping to the next roof over. Above them, several people that were trapped in bubbles were gasping and pointing at them. Well, so much for the surprise attack.

Suga looked up and caught sight of them, and yeah, the manic grin on his face was nothing like the Suga he’d met earlier, and even more terrifying up close. He ceased his terrorizing of the tofu joint, instead rising to meet their level on the roofs on either side of him.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up!” Even his voice was sickeningly cheerful. “Now as I understand, this is your first time as heroes, isn’t it? That’s what the Monarch told me, anyway.”

“The Monarch?” Blackspot asked, holding his yo-yo in preparation. Tooru was gripping his staff tightly too, heart racing while he reminded himself to breathe.

“Ah, yes! The Monarch gave me all these cool powers to enact my revenge. Wasn’t that so kind?” The akumatized Suga smirked. “I’ll get to be the Bubbler forever if I want, but in turn I need your miraculous, and so if you could hand them over nicely, we can cut out the unnecessary violence.”

“Sorry, but _our_ surrender isn’t an option,” Blackspot replied, his heated gaze making Tooru feel hot and cold all over even when it wasn’t directed at him. “And we think it would be in your best interests for _you_ to give up now instead. Isn’t that right, Catastrophe?”

_Shit, that was so hot._

“He’s right, you know,” Tooru nodded. “Let us take that akuma out of your system. We’ll work it out, and everything will go back to normal. No violence needed.”

Suga only narrowed his eyes.

“It’s too bad I really need those miraculouses, you seem like nice people,” he raised his weapon, and Tooru’s knuckles went white on his staff. Suga’s eyes flicked between the both of them, gauging their positions. “Unfortunately, you’re in my way!”

Suga suddenly shot bubbles toward Tooru, who was prepared. The slight inclination of his shoulders toward Tooru had been enough indication. He pressed the bottom of his staff to the ground, the staff lengthening with the press of a button as he rose several feet into the air. Time passed in slow motion. On instinct, he did a somersault over Suga’s head that normal him would never be capable of doing, and retracted the staff with another press, landing in a dive roll on the roof beside Blackspot.He should have been out of breath, after a stunt like that, but he was fine. He felt like he could do this for days. 

“Alright, then. Kitty’s got moves, huh?” Suga’s eyes glimmered with malice. “How about his little beetle friend? What’s he made of?”

But Blackspot was already gone. When Tooru looked around, his partner was running up the wall on the other building, feet sticking to the brick like a spider, and his jaw nearly dropped open. So he could walk on walls too? Tooru heard his yo-yo whirring before he saw it wrapping in a blur around Suga’s weapon. Blackspot jumped off the wall, turning and rocketing toward Suga being pulled by his yo-yo. The weapon was facing upward, so the bubbles couldn’t hit him as he swung in and leaned to snatch the paper from Suga’s hand.

“I’ll be taking this, thanks— oomf!”

Tooru winced as Suga spun around before he could grab it, kicking Blackspot in the stomach and sending him diving into a roll back on the roof. Tooru rushed over before Suga could close in, jumping in front of his partner with his staff spinning incredibly fast in his hands.

“We can’t evade him, he’s too quick to react.” _Stupid setter instincts_ , Tooru thought to himself, but didn’t voice this aloud, because though Tooru knew Suga was supposedly an incredible setter, _Catastrophe_ didn’t know this. He continued to spin his staff, successfully deflecting the bubbles away from them. Whew, he was lucky that worked. “Run and hide behind that dumpster, and I’ll lose him and follow you after. You okay?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Blackspot smiled appreciatively at him, and Tooru’s heart skipped a beat. “Sorry you had to save my ass. That was reckless of me.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m just glad you’re okay,” Tooru replied, feeling his face flush. “Now go!”

The command was a bit too demanding, but Blackspot obeyed anyway. As soon as he made a break for it, Tooru dove out of the way, ceasing to spin his staff, and catapulted himself forward. Suga’s eyes broke away from Blackspot as he focused on the boy shooting toward him. In a sudden change of momentum, Tooru pushed his staff out so it hit the wall beside him at a perpendicular angle, jolting him to the left, where Blackspot had run. He jumped between walls in this manner, hitting the street and running as fast as his legs could take him toward the dumpster.

Suga didn’t follow, and Tooru breathed out a sigh of relief when he’d successfully lost him. He spotted Blackspot sliding into hiding, and realized he must have taken a longer route to get there than Tooru had. The two of them reconvened behind the dumpster, their backs pressed up against it. As far as Tooru could tell, he was fine, and Blackspot seemed alright too, despite the kick to his stomach looking like it had hurt.

“Think it’s time to use your lucky charm?” Tooru panted, surprised he was still able to breathe after the impromptu series of acrobatics he’d just performed.

“I think we need it,” Blackspot nodded, raising his hand to the sky and flinging his yo-yo into the air alongside it. The request was hesitant, and the blush on his cheeks made Tooru realize he felt stupid saying the words. “Lucky charm?”

There was a flash of light, and into his palm fell a single, rubber balloon. It hadn’t been inflated, so it just sat lifelessly in his hand. Blackspot blinked twice, three times, then looked to Tooru, who was looking back at him with amusement. He couldn’t help but tease.

“Are you sure your powers work right?”

“They do!” Blackspot defended, brow furrowed in confusion. He looked just about as lost as Tooru felt. He poked his head out behind the dumpster to watch Suga, who was calling out for them with that manic smile on his face. Blackspot grimaced. “I’m supposed to come up with some grand solution with the power of creativity or whatever, but I don’t have a creative bone in my body—” he paused, eyes widening as he surveyed the akumatized Suga, who was still looking for them on the rooftops. “I got it!”

“You do?” Tooru raised an eyebrow, bewildered. That was fast.

“Yeah — it’s weird. It’s like I think so quickly now, and I can focus on the details as well as everything all at once,” Blackspot said with fascination, wide eyes returning to Tooru’swith a bright smile on his face. Tooru thought he might melt, his smile more radiant than the sun itself.

“The bubbles can’t do anything if they don’t hit anyone, right? All I've gotta do is slap this over the wand!” Blackspot said proudly, holding up the balloon for effect. “And when he goes to take it off, he’ll have to let go of the paper, or at least let it slip from his hand. Then one of us can go in and grab it to destroy it.”

There was a moment of silence as the two of them processed that it wouldn’t really be that easy.

“Pffff,” Tooru snorted to break the tension. “Your genius plan is using the balloon like a condom?”

“You know what?” Blackspot rolled his eyes, visibly biting his cheek to stop a smile. “Don’t.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Tooru apologized, though he was still grinning. The nerves that had compiled at the revelation of the plan eased a little. “I’ll be able to distract him. I’ve got a few more tricks up my sleeve, not to worry. And even if I get stuck, I can use my cataclysm to get out.”

“I won’t let him get you,” Blackspot said reassuringly. “And be careful, okay? The last thing I want is for you to get hurt.”

“Oh, please, I’m the harbinger of destruction,” Tooru waved it off, though his whole body felt warm at Blackspot’s admission. “I can handle anything.”

“We’ve gotten this far, haven’t we?” Blackspot took a deep breath, nodding. “I don’t have much time before I transform back. It’s now or never.”

“Now, then,” Tooru gave him a quick, two-fingered salute, followed by a grin before he was jumping out from behind the dumpster. His confidence was fueled by Blackspot’s words running through his head. /It’s now or never. I’ll be right beside you./ He could feel all the adrenaline pumping through his body as he ran back toward Suga. When he looked over his shoulder, Blackspot was running behind him, but he was smiling back at Tooru, looking as determined as Tooru felt.

Maybe they were cut out for this whole saving the world thing after all.

Blackspot remained on the ground while Tooru jumped from balcony to balcony, regaining Suga’s attention. News and police helicopters alike were starting to surround them, and it was only a matter of time before Blackspot had to transform back. He couldn’t risk revealing himself, so they had to make this quick.

“Looking for me, Bubbler-san?” Tooru called out, figuring that must be what he was going by now. “You wanna play some more?”

Suga’s eyes caught his sharply, and he flew closer to Tooru menacingly. He pointed his weapon at Tooru, firing the bubbles, while Tooru sprinted across the rooftop with the projectiles just missing him from behind.

“There you are! And here I was, thinking you’d left me,” Suga laughed bitterly. “It’s awfully rude to cancel plans, you know. Where’s your friend? Did he run away?”

Tooru was running out of room on the roof, and so he backtracked opposed to jumping to the next one over. His body was reacting so fast that his brain could hardly catch up — it amazed him that he had all of the grace of a cat while he moved seamlessly from place to place. Tooru had just barely dodged a barrage of bubbles in front of him when Blackspot’s voice cut through the pounding of blood in his ears.

“Right behind you!”

Blackspot seemed to swoop in out of nowhere, yo-yo wrapping around the bubble weapon once again. Before Suga could shoot it, Blackspot was hanging on his back, out of reach, while he maneuvered the balloon onto the wand. The bubbles shot out aimlessly, but to no avail, and they disappeared into the sky.

Tooru was (rather inappropriately, he thought to himself) hyperaware of how tight Blackspot’s thighs were around Suga. He mentally kicked himself for being jealous over something so stupid. Luckily for him, it didn’t last long, as Blackspot then grabbed the piece of paper from Suga’s hand while he was distracted, swinging away back to Tooru with a triumphant smile.

“I’ve got it,” Blackspot held it in his hand. Upon closed examination, Tooru realized it was a picture. It was one of Suga, Sawamura, and another two people (probably third years) that he didn’t know. Suga and Sawamura had their arms around each other, grinning brilliantly into the camera flash, and Tooru felt his heart pang dully in his chest when Blackspot ripped it in half.

“It’s too bad,” he frowned, shaking his head. “It’s a nice picture.”

From the pages floated a black and purple moth that seemed to exude bad energy. Blackspot didn’t let it get far, swinging his yo-yo with a quick flick of his wrist and capturing it inside. With a flash of light, he retracted it and the sides of the yo-yo opened to release a pure, white butterfly. Then, as if their minds were linked, they turned and fist-bumped one another, their knuckles colliding with enthusiasm, bright grins on their faces.

“We did it,” Tooru breathed.

“We did it,” Blackspot confirmed. He glanced back at the butterfly, which was disappearing into the sky.

The two of them watched it go in a bit of a shock, their high from fighting starting to recede and suddenly, their surroundings finally faded back in. The helicopters were still surrounding them, people in bubbles still floating in the air, and Suga, also still in the air, but starting to transform back to his normal self.

Blackspot reacted in an instant, swinging his yo-yo back out and entwining Suga in it, pulling him to sit on the roof along with them so he wouldn’t fall. He looked like he was asleep, or hardly conscious, and Tooru kneeled with him on the ground, putting a comforting arm around him for when he woke up. When he looked back up at Blackspot, he was setting everything back to normal. With a shout of “Miraculous ladybug!” which, yeah, sounded kind of stupid at first, but the ridiculousness was overridden by the effect.

Tooru watched everything start to reset itself as whirlwind of red (petals, maybe?) blew around like wind. People were set back on the ground, buildings that had been wrecked in the scramble were repaired, and Suga was starting to blink himself awake.

Tooru was all too aware of the news helicopters, all trained on the trio on the roof. In a panic, Blackspot looked to Tooru, thinking the same thing. Suga was about to get a lot of publicity, and a beep of Blackspot’s earrings told him he was going to transform soon.

“I’m sorry. I’ve really got to go transform,” Blackspot frowned. “Do you think you’ll be okay handling this?”

“We just took down our first akuma. The media’s nothing,” Tooru brushed it off. “Trust me, I’ll take care of it.”

“I do.” Blackspot said immediately. He cleared his throat, awkward at his own suddenness. “Trust you, that is. Thank you for everything.”

“What are you thanking me for?” Tooru couldn’t help but smile. “We’re not done yet, Spot-sama.”

Blackspot smiled back. Though they had been brought together by unfortunate circumstances, he seemed glad to have met Tooru. Tooru was proud of the two of them — they’d worked well together, especially just having met today. He wasn’t sure if it was them, or their miraculous, but their connection was something else entirely. 

“Right. I’ll be seeing you again, then.”

“For sure.” Tooru nodded, and Blackspot zipped away on his yo-yo, disappearing into a building a few blocks away. Tooru realized he had to take the media’s attention off of him, and so he stood and began to shout to the skies.

“Citizens of Tokyo! If you will all tune in momentarily, and focus on me right here, right now!”

That got their attention. He could feel dozens of camera on him, microphones pointed his way. Suga was still sitting on the ground, watching him. Tooru gave him his most reassuring smile before returning to the cameras. He wished he had a megaphone, so he wouldn’t be yelling himself hoarse. 

“This is the first of what will become many akuma attacks, so you’d better prepare yourself for whatever comes next! This doesn’t call for panic, because my partner and I will be here as protectors of the city to return everything back to normal.”

He cleared his throat. “Once we locate and capture the villain known as the Monarch, who is initiating these attacks, Tokyo will be truly normal once more! I ask everyone to excuse victims of the Monarch and his akumas from legal action — akumas take control of people using their negative emotions, and their actions cannot be blamed on people that have been akumatized. Instead, do your best to keep your emotions in check so this doesn’t happen to you!”

Tooru took a deep breath, looking at Suga, who was staring up at him wordlessly.

“However, nobody’s perfect,” Tooru returned his focus to the cameras. “And when there’s another attack, because there will be, Blackspot and myself, Catastrophe, will be here to save the city. He had to leave to transform, and so I ask that the media does not attempt to reveal our true identities to the public — for our own safety and yours. It’s best that we remain a secret.”

Even if Tooru desperately wanted to know who the handsome, brilliant man behind the mask was.

“You can count on Blackspot and I to save the day! Wherever there’s a crisis, we’ll be there!”

After a few, ringing moments of silence, there was the faint sound of applause from below, where his voice had probably echoed. A crowd of people in the street were cheering, clapping with enthusiasm at the end of Tooru’s speech. Tooru felt a wave of pride wash over him, almost feeling like he might tear up.

Finally, _finally_ he’d done something right.

Finally, somebody was proud of him.

Finally, people relied on him instead of the other way around. He’d been so tired of relying on everyone else.

And as much as he wanted to bask in this moment forever, there was more business to attend to. After a swift, courteous bow to the cameras, Tooru placed his hand on Suga’s shoulder, looking carefully at him.

“Are you alright?” He asked, softly. “I’m going to take you home, now.”

“I . . . don’t even remember what happened,” Suga sounded dazed, weak, and a little desperate. “Did I . . . Did I do something?”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Tooru soothed him as best he could. “And my partner set everything back to normal, so you don’t have to blame yourself for anything, okay? Can you stand?”

Suga nodded numbly, and Tooru wrapped an arm around his waist. Taking the hint, Suga laid his arm around Tooru’s shoulder. Using the staff, Tooru jumped off the roof, holding Suga tightly to his side as he did. After a quick glance behind him, the news helicopters weren’t moving, but he moved a little closer to the ground anyway to ensure he was really out of sight.

He dropped Suga off at his house, neither of them exchanging any words until Suga’s feet hit the ground.

“I’m really sorry, for whatever I did,” Suga murmured, seeming deeply upset. “Thank you for helping me.”

“It’s really not your fault,” Tooru replied earnestly. “What’s your name, again?”

“Koushi Sugawara,” he said, as if this were shameful.

“Can I call you Suga?”

The silver-haired boy seemed to brighten a little at this. “Yes, that works too.”

“Listen, Suga,” Tooru put a hand on his shoulder, but he doubted it had the same comforting impact as Blackspot’s did. “Like I said earlier, you might be the first, but you’re not the only one this is going to happen to. That’s why Blackspot and I are going to do whatever we can to stop the Monarch from terrorizing the city. Even if it seems like everything is crashing down right now, just know you’re not alone.”

Suga nodded, though he still seemed to feel a little guilty. “Thank you. And please, tell Blackspot I thank him too. I don’t remember much, but you two work so seamlessly together.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Tooru blushed. “We just met today.” 

“You make a good pairing,” Suga nodded. “I trust you two with our safety. Thank you for everything, really.”

“Of course,” Tooru replied, stooping slightly into a bow. “All in a day’s work.”   
  


*/**.__.**\\*

He landed on the top of the penthouse, making sure nobody saw him. The security cameras around the penthouse had been disabled (by him, of course) ever since receiving his miraculous. Nobody checked the security tapes anyway, but Tooru didn’t want to take any chances. He detransformed in his room, his bag from earlier reappearing across his torso. Well, at least he hadn’t lost his milk bread.

He was exhausted from the day; all he wanted to do was curl up into a ball and dream sweet dreams of Blackspot holding Tooru in his arms and fighting countless villains alongside him. Tooru had never felt so alive before, the only thing close to it was when he played volleyball alongside Iwaizumi.

It struck him as odd that his first instinct was to fist-bump people after a success, and apparently, it had been Blackspot’s and Iwaizumi’s as well. He wouldn’t mind it becoming a thing with either of them — it made him feel like it was a job well done. It felt electric, when he and Blackspot had fist-bumped earlier

Speaking of which —

“Kenma, you ass!”

His kwami had been resting, but looked up at Tooru with a disgruntled look.

“What have I done now?”

“You didn’t tell me he was going to be _hot!_ ” Tooru scolded him.

“I didn’t know who the Master was going to choose, and I can’t see what he looks like either, so I’ll just take your word for it,” Kenma looked up at him expectantly. “Do you have food for me?”

Tooru cursed, and Kenma blinked at him, startled.

“Sorry, Kenma. I got caught up talking to Iwa-chan at the bakery and forgot to ask him for apple pie. I’ll get some for you tomorrow, okay? You know what I do have, though .. .”

Kenma sighed, but he didn’t seem all that disappointed. “Okay, fine. Milk bread it is.”

He ate it quickly, clearly starving, and Tooru watched him with amusement. He was sort of cute when he stuffed his face with food like that. As if Kenma could sense his thoughts, he glared at Tooru.

“Whatever you’re thinking right now, stop thinking it,” his words came out muffled with his mouth full, so he swallowed. “And don’t watch me eat, that’s creepy.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” Tooru rolled his eyes, cutting a slice of milk bread for himself. When Kenma had finished eating, he curled up in his usual spot on Tooru’s pillow, closing his eyes sleepily.

“You did good today,” he said with his eyes shut. “I’m really proud of you, Oikawa.”

Tooru was tempted to tease him, ask him to say it again, but the sentiment from Kenma on its own was enough for him. Besides, it looked like the kwami was already asleep anyway.

“Thanks, Kenma,” he said, smiling fondly to himself. “Get your rest.”

It was hard for Tooru to sleep that night. He was awake thinking about Blackspot, and the events of today. Tooru wanted to text Suga and ask if he was alright, but he didn’t have the boy’s phone number.

Shit.

He had forgotten to text Iwaizumi that he was okay. He hadn’t even checked his messages yet. He opened them to see several from some of the girls at school, a few from Makki and Mattsun (apparently they’d been watching the news live), and two from Iwaizumi, but only from about fifteen minutes ago.

_ iwa-chan (ง'̀-'́)ง, 1:52 pm:  _

**did you get home safe?**

**shittykawa?**

He replied hastily.

**i eventually got swept by  
the crowd but yeah i was fine!!**

**sorry for running off like  
that, and for not texting you.**

**thankfully those two  
heroes showed up.**

**were you worried about  
me, iwa-chan? ;))**

  
_ iwa-chan (ง'̀-'́)ง, 2:09 pm: _

**of course i was. you ran off like a  
dumbass into the face of danger.**

**but im glad you’re okay.**

**you can repay me by finishing off  
that loaf of milk bread you bought  
before asking me to bring you  
breakfast again.**

***sigh***

**okay, fine.**

_ iwa-chan (ง'̀-'́)ง, 2:10 pm: _

**and that doesn’t mean you  
can eat all of it in one sitting.**

**ಠ╭╮ಠ**

**damn it.**

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter from Oikawa’s point of view! The next one will be as well! I know I said I would alternate but honestly I don’t even know at this point. We’ll see when we get there.  
> Thank you so much for your comments and kudos and all the lovely feedback I’ve been receiving! You all are seriously too kind and I appreciate each and every one of you so much :))!


	4. accidents happen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two accidental confessions from two oblivious idiots. As one would expect, neither of them go very well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update came a little later! This chapter was longer than I expected haha.  
> Also please excuse me feeding my platonic IwaSuga agenda, in addition to my platonic OiSuga agenda, because I just love their friendships.

  
The tabloids were already screaming when Tooru woke the next morning.

**MASKED VIGILANTES TAKE DOWN SUPERVILLAIN — IDENTITIES UNKNOWN**

**WHAT CAUSES SUPERHUMAN ABILITIES SEEN IN YESTERDAYS ATTACK? “MIRACULOUS” MAY PROVIDE THE ANSWER**

**WHO ARE BLACKSPOT AND CATASTROPHE, AND WHY DO THEY CLAIM TO BE “PROTECTORS OF THE CITY?”**

**TENSIONS RISE IN TOKYO AS IT PREPARES FOR A NEW ERA OF SUPERHEROES AND SUPERVILLAINS**

**POTENTIAL RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN HERO AND VILLAIN???**

On this article was a blurry picture of Tooru as Catastrophe (at a terrible angle, he might add), holding Suga while Blackspot stood beside them, looking much hotter. Below the article was another titled **POTENTIAL RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN TWO HEROES?!** , which was a picture of him and Blackspot doing the fist-bump.

Ah, he’d let the public speculate.

Meanwhile, he had to go back to school.

Apparently, he and Blackspot were the talk of the town (as they should be), with screens projecting playbacks of the two of them fighting together, headlines scrolling beneath them. It was weird to watch himself from another point of view. Their fights looked way cooler from a camera’s perspective than they had felt. It amused him when an ad for his father’s company flashed up afterward, and Tooru decided to keep walking.He decided he liked Catastrophe better than he liked Tooru Oikawa. Catastrophe was reckless, heroic, and free to make his own choices. He felt more like himself under the mask than he did without it. 

Tooru tuned in mildly to the conversations going on around him as he walked into the school building, waving occasionally at those who chose to acknowledge his existence. Even some of his usual fan club members were too busy talking about the incident yesterday to even notice his arrival.

“—but that flip that Catastrophe pulled in midair? Holy shit, that was so cool.”

“Blackspots kinda like Spider-Man, you know? He can walk on walls and swing around and shit—”

“— and when Catastrophe was spinning his staff so fast it turned into a shield—”

“They’re both kinda hot, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, but they’re probably like twenty-something—”

“—I wish I had cool superpowers.”

“You’d set the city on fire— ”

“I feel like they’ve got chemistry, you know?”

“No, idiot. _We_ have chemistry, and _you_ didn’t give me the homework answers like we agreed upon, even though I spent hours of my day translating your godawful essay into proper English.”

Those last two were Hanamaki and Matsukawa, respectfully. They were standing on either side of Iwaizumi’s locker, waiting for him to arrive. They both turned in synchronization when they noticed Tooru making his way over.

“He’s not here yet?” Tooru raised an eyebrow, checking his watch. There were only ten minutes until class started. Usually Iwaizumi would be here by now, berating _Tooru_ for being late.

“Oh, yeah, he isn’t,” Matsukawa glanced at his own watch, as if just noticing. “We were so caught up talking about the attack yesterday that we didn’t notice. Should I text him?”

But right as he asked, Iwaizumi rounded the corner. The first thing Tooru noticed was that he looked absolutely _furious._ His knuckles were white from gripping the strap of his backpack so tightly, and his tie was in all sorts of disarray, but Tooru didn’t dare to fix it. He didn’t greet any of them as he opened his locker, and he dropped his bag to the floor with a thud.

Tooru looked between Hanamaki and Matsukawa helplessly. He had not been handed a guide on how to handle an _actually_ angry Iwaizumi. Neither had they, apparently, because they pushed Tooru forward encouragingly. Apparently he’d been wrongfully designated as the Iwaizumi Whisperer, but he did his best to remedy the situation anyway.

“Hey, Iwa-chan,” Tooru spoke up, his chipper tone strained. “Where have you been?”

“The gym,” Iwaizumi answered shortly, which wasn’t a cause for concern until, “with Sawamura.”

 _Uh oh._ Considering Sawamura’s part in Suga’s breakdown yesterday, Tooru concluded that, certainly, this couldn’t be good. Hanamaki and Matsukawa didn’t know that, though, and they missed the subtle looks Tooru gave them when they pressed. 

“Oh? And what were you doing there for so long?” Hanamaki asked.

“We had a talk.”

Fuck.

Iwaizumi spoke with a clenched jaw as he shoved his textbooks into his locker, shoulders tensed. His face was blank, other than his eyes looking like they might burn holes through the metal, and everything else about him looking so wound up he might snap in half. Was he like this when all of his friends were hurt, or was it because it was Suga?

“Holy shit,” Hanamaki muttered quietly. “Do we need to bury a body?”

“What? No.” Hanamaki visibly _flinched_ when caught under Iwaizumi’s heated stare. The ace was grimacing at him. “I said we had a talk. I didn’t kill him.”

“Come now, Iwa-chan,” Tooru hazarded, “you look awfully tense—”

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t be?”

Tooru suddenly felt the need to take several steps back. His gaze made Tooru feel like he was being burned alive, the usual warmth in Iwaizumi’s eyes elevating to scorching heat. It was terrifying.

“Cut it out, Iwaizumi,” Matsukawa stepped forward (the actual Iwa-Chan Whisperer, apparently), all seriousness. “Oikawa’s right. I don’t know what your beef is with Sawamura, but you’re really scaring all of us right now by lashing out.”

This seemed to get to him. His eyebrows lifted from their furrowed position, the heat in his eyes receding. He took a deep breath, shaking his head and releasing his shoulders along with it. He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. He met Tooru’s eyes first, lips curled into a frown.

“I’m sorry for getting snappy,” he said, voice soft. “I didn’t mean to take my anger out on you.”

Tooru had never seen him like this before. He seemed so openly upset that a strange consoling urge washed over him. Before he could think twice he had pulled Iwaizumi into a hug, patting his back softly. Iwaizumi still seemed awfully stiff, but with awkwardness opposed to anger.

“It’s okay, Iwa-chan, I understand,” Tooru cooed soothingly. “You’re just really protective of your friends; it’s very sweet of you, even if you get scary.”

Finally, Iwaizumi seemed to melt into him, fully accepting the touch.

“I’m not mad at you, sorry,” he mumbled into Tooru’s shoulder. Tooru patted him again, warmth spreading through his chest.

“I know.”

Hanamaki cleared his throat.

“If you two are done being _gay_ —”

“Shut up, Makki, let them have their moment,” Matsukawa shoved him, and Hanamaki shoved him back. Tooru flushed at his statement, but squeezed tighter when Iwaizumi tensed up again. He let go after another second or two, and so Tooru released him from his arms, glad he was at least somewhat calmer even if he was embarrassed. Iwaizumi closed his locker extra-softly and slung his backpack back over his shoulder. The four of them walked up to class.

“No breakfast this morning?” Tooru asked, trying to ease the mood. Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow.

“I thought I told you to finish the loaf you bought first,” he said, frowning. “Did you eat it all at once? I told you not to, idiot. That’s how you get sick.”

“I know, I know, and I didn’t anyway,” Tooru soothed him, smiling at his concern. “I cut myself a reasonably sized slice this morning. Just wishful thinking.”

“Keep wishing,” Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. “I couldn’t have, anyway. I spent the night at Suga’s.”

Tooru nearly tripped over his own feet.

“You did?!” He didn’t know if he felt betrayed because Iwaizumi was just now telling him this, or because he’d spent the night at Suga’s before he spent the night at Tooru’s. Obviously, Suga needed it more, but it stung a little, as he was still Iwaizumi’s self-designated best friend. Then again, he did seem awfully worried about Suga, and Tooru couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to his anxiousness than just friendly concern. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was a spur of the moment kind of thing,” Iwaizumi shrugged, not picking up on Tooru’s woe. He was frowning at his shoes, and Tooru wanted to ruffle his hair and make his dismayed expression disappear. “I went over to visit and help him calm down. He was really stressed out and he felt so terrible about everything. So I offered to stay the night, in case he couldn’t sleep, and I picked up my school stuff and came back.” He sighed. “He’s not coming in today — he doesn’t want to see anybody right now.”

Ah, so that was it. Iwaizumi was desperately in love with Suga, and seeing him hurt was stressing him out. That was so _adorable_. Tooru patted his arm lightly. “I’m sure he really appreciated it.”

He wished he could have seen Suga himself. Even though he’d been the one to take him home afterward, he didn’t have any means of checking up on him. He was glad Iwaizumi had done it, but he wanted to help cheer Suga up too, and his nosy self was sort of wondering what exactly had transpired between Suga and Sawamura. Then again, he didn’t want to impede on the time between Iwaizumi and his now-glaringly-obvious-crush.

A brilliant idea formed in Tooru’s mind. Maybe he could kill two birds with one stone! 

“Do you think I could go see him after school today?”

Iwaizumi turned to look at him, brow raised.

“You want to go visit him?”

Tooru shot him a look. “What? Is it not in my nature to care about people?” At the way Iwaizumi snorted, his frown deepened. “Actually, don’t answer that.”

“Maybe. I told him I’d come visit him after I walked you home, but I’ll ask if I can just take you with me.”

Tooru brightened. “Really? You’re the best, Iwa-chan!”

The poor boy really must not get praised often, because his cheeks went red again and he stared at his shoes.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

When they reached their homeroom class, the talk about Blackspot and Catastrophe resumed. Even Hanahaki and Matsukawa were talking about it with Tendou and Ushijima. A few of their teachers even talked to them about it.

Sawamura was uncharacteristically quiet — it was alarming, considering whatever had happened earlier between him and Iwaizumi. He didn’t come into class until the bell rang, and when lunchtime rolled around he left the class immediately. Iwaizumi was glaring holes into the other boy’s spine, remnants from his temper earlier into the day, and it was a terrifying sight to behold.

It seemed like Iwaizumi was the only other person who wasn’t talking about what had happened. When Tooru glanced over, he saw that he was texting Suga under his desk — he must be really infatuated with the man, and Tooru couldn’t exactly blame him. Now that he wasn’t angry, Tooru could tell he was tired. His eyes kept fluttering shut while their teachers spoke, elbow taking permanent residence on the table so he could let his head drop into his hand every so often. His hair was exceptionally messy today, a few strands flopping into his eyes. It hadn’toccurred to Tooru that Iwaizumi’s hair didn’t live in a constant hedgehog state.

It hadn’t occurred to Tooru how much he’d been staring, either, until Hanamaki poked him in the shoulder and whispered for him to “keep his eyes on his own paper.” 

“Take a nap, Iwa-chan.”

It was now lunchtime, and Tooru was tired of watching his friend have to pinch himself awake during history. Iwaizumi blinked slowly at him, as if trying to decipher something so clearly spoken.

“What? Why? I’m not tired,” he denied, staring straight at Tooru as he covered a yawn with his hand. Tooru gave him a skeptical look.

“I’m serious, go to sleep,” he frowned. “I’ve never seen you so tired before. Did you sleep at all last night?”

Iwaizumi blinked again.

“Well . . .”

“Oh my God, Iwaizumi,” Matsukawa flicked him in the head from behind. “You know you can still take care of yourself _while_ you take care of other people, right?”

“Mattsun’s right,” Hanamaki piped in. “You won’t be able to help anybody when you’re practically sleepwalking yourself.”

“Ugh, fine,” Iwaizumi finally conceded, crossing his arms on the desk and lying his head on them. He closed his eyes, brow scrunched momentarily as he shifted to find a comfortable angle. When the group of girls that usually came to talk to Tooru approached, he shushed them gently.

“Sorry, ladies, but I have to ask you to be quiet. The beast is sleeping.”

Iwaizumi weakly raised a hand to flip him off before letting it flop back down to the desk, making many of the girls giggle. After a few moments, Tooru could tell he was asleep because his forehead relaxed and his jaw had gone entirely slack, lips slightly parted. The sunlight from the window behind him was casting him in shadow, but by the darkening patch on his sleeve Tooru could tell he was drooling.

With anybody else, this would just be gross.

With Iwaizumi, it was gross and yet oddly endearing.

Something about seeing him so relaxed and vulnerable was nice. It was like he was sharing a secret. It made Tooru want to keep watching him, because Iwaizumi really deserved to be at peace, more than every once in a while. Tooru wondered where his irritable outer shell had come from — he was rather like a hedgehog in that way too. Sharp and spiky when he wants to be, but when he lets you in it’s hard not to love him.

Not that Tooru was in love with him, or anything. He had Blackspot for that (though that couldn’t really be constituted as love either; more like an impossible crush). But he did have a deep fondness for Iwaizumi that he couldn’t quite describe. He wanted the best for him, and it filled him with contentment to see him at peace.

“You’re staring again.”

Tooru met Hanamaki’s smirk with an eye roll.

“I know. I’ve never seen him like this before — I’m trying to take in the moment.”

“He always gets like this when he overworks himself,” one of the girls sighed. She turned to Hanamaki and Matsukawa, raising an eyebrow. “Since Suga will probably take off work for a while, do you think I should take over his shifts? I wouldn’t want him to feel pressured to come in, or for Haj— _Iwaizumi_ to take the morning shift himself.”

Tooru noticed the near use of his given name, but didn’t mention it. The girl talking was one of the girls that wasn’t blown away by Tooru, though she talked to Iwaizumi often. She was objectively very pretty, with silky dark hair and sweet brown eyes. They were probably friends, from what Tooru had observed, though he didn’t know her name.

“We’ll take care of it, Terumi,” Matsukawa shook his head, answering Tooru’s question for him. “Iwaizumi wouldn’t let you work a day in your life if he could.”

Terumi smiled, staring at the sleeping boy fondly.

“I know, he’s too kind. Wants to do everything for everyone except himself.”

“You two must be close,” Tooru spoke up, shooting her his most rewarding smile.

Terumi suddenly grew flustered, playing with the end of her braid as her cheeks went rosy.

“Oh, well — um, not really,” she said quickly. “Just old friends.”

Maybe she did like Tooru after all. She just wasn’t as persistent as the other girls about it. If her blushing reaction was anything to go by, Tooru’s full attention must have overwhelmed her.

“You and Iwaizumi-san are pretty close though, right?” One of the other girls — Ikumi — asked Tooru, batting her eyelashes. “Did you know him before you came here?”

“Nope! Just met him last week,” Tooru replied chipperly. “But I’d say we’re close. He’s prickly on the outside, but when you get to know him, he’s a softie.”

To his surprise, Terumi chuckled.

“Like a cactus,” she said, before dissolving into a fit of giggles. It reminded Tooru a bit about of his own teasing, and he snorted.

“I was thinking more like a hedgehog, but a cactus isn’t all that far off,” he teased. Hanamaki elbowed him.

“Don’t let him hear you saying that. He’ll take it from Terumi, but you’ll be running laps all of practice if he hears it from you.”

“I’m not worried about it. He seems like he’s out cold,” Tooru wondered how late Iwaizumi had been up. Had he really not slept at all? Sure, Tooru had pulled all-nighters before and he knew what exhaustion felt like, but he’d never seen Iwaizumi so tired. His lashes fluttered while he slept, breaths coming slow and easy. He was probably up all night comforting Suga, like any hopeless romantic would do. “If I didn’t know any better I’d think he died.”

“Maybe he did.”

When Tooru turned to Matsukawa, who had spoken, he was staring Tooru dead in the eye with grave seriousness. “You need to let go, Tooru. He’s just an illusion.”

“We’re all just illusions,” Hanamaki added, face also suddenly dropping into a deadpan. “You have to move on.”

“Aw, come on guys, you’re scaring me,” Tooru laughed.

Nobody laughed with him.

He turned to the girls, blinking at them with his signature pout. “Come on! Not you all too.”

“Who are you talking to, Oikawa-san?” Ikumi asked, looking concerned. The looks of the other girls all mirrored hers. Despite himself, a slow panic began to crawl up Tooru’s stomach.

“Teru-chan! Tell them to stop!” Tooru begged the dark-haired girl. She only frowned at him in response, furrowing her brow.

“Stop what? Are you feeling okay, Oikawa-san?” She took everyone, especially him, by surprise when she boldly reached across the desk and pressed the back of her hand to Tooru’s forehead. Her frown deepened. “You’re feeling awfully warm, and you’ve been talking to yourself for the past fifteen minutes. Maybe you should go home.”

This was the last straw. Tooru felt like he was going crazy, and so he resorted to waking Iwaizumi himself.

“Iwa-chan!” Tooru whined, shaking him by the shoulders. He regretted it, as the other boy’s serene expression was interrupted by his typical irritated brow-scrunch. He blinked awake slowly, picking Tooru’s hands off of his shoulders. The warmth of his skin was reassuring — or was that part of his imagination too?

“The fuck was that for?” Iwaizumi scowled at him. “Why would you tell me to take a nap and then wake me up ten minutes later?”

“Iwa-chan!” Tooru cried, breathless. “Are you still alive?! Are you real, or a figment of my imagination?!”

Iwaizumi stared over Tooru’s shoulder at Hanamaki, gaze demanding an explanation, before he returned to looking at Tooru.

“Yes, you idiot. I’m real. Can I go back to sleep now?”

Matsukawa groaned.

“Come on, Iwaizumi! You ruined it!”

“How did I ruin anything? I just woke up,” he groveled in reply.Iwaizumi made a face at the drool that had accumulated on his sleeve. “Ugh, gross. Why didn’t you wake me up sooner?”

“Because you needed it,” Tooru hummed. “Feel better?”

Iwaizumi sent him an odd look, but shrugged. His cheeks were still pink from embarrassment as he muttered a reluctant “yeah” to the top of his desk. Iwaizumi reached into his bag and took out his lunch, starting to unpack some of the food, probably hoping to eat as much as possible in the little time he had left for lunch. He then returned to looking at Tooru, a smirk coming to his lips. “Did you think I was dead or something?”

“No!” Tooru lied, mortification returning immediately, but Hanamaki interrupted him before he could get much else out.

“It was a team effort, but he was sold after Terumi’s Oscar-winning performance,” he explained with a shit-eating grin.

Iwaizumi laughed. It was a little hoarse from sleep, but pleasant nonetheless, even if it was at Tooru’s expense. His eyes glinted with mirth as he grinned at Tooru. “That’s not surprising. An idiot like you is no match for Terumi’s superior acting skills.” He jerked a thumb toward her, smiling proudly. “She’s the lead in the spring musical, and our theatre arts program is tough to get in to. She’s really talented.”

“You flatter me too much,” Terumi mumbled, face now red again even as she was smiling at her lap.

“Well I wouldn’t have fallen for it if I knew that!” Tooru sulked, pouting. “And I’m talented too, Iwa-chan!”

“You are,” Iwaizumi agreed, cleanly breaking his chopsticks. “You’ve got a real knack for pissing me off.”

“Ouch,” Tooru stuck his tongue out, stealing one of his tempura as an act of revenge. “Rude, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi stole one of Tooru’s sashimi in return, placing it in his mouth and chewing as he offhandedly added, “I guess you’re a pretty good setter too.”

Tooru beamed. “See? You’re not so prickly after all!”

Iwaizumi’s expression soured as he swallowed. “I’ll show you prickly, you asshat.”

The look on Tooru’s face must have been amusing, because the crowd of people around them burst into laughter. Even Iwaizumi was chuckling again.

“You two are so gross,” Hanamaki nudged Tooru. “Just get married already.”

“Now, now, Makki, you can’t rush love,” Matsukawa shook his head. Hanamaki just rolled his eyes.

“They’ve got chemistry! Just like Blackspot and Catastrophe,” he argued. “They both even do the fist-bump thing after they win.”

Tooru’s throat went dry. He was hoping that nobody had caught on about that, but now that Hanamaki had pointed it out, it was undeniably true. Especially since he’d drawn the connection of their chemistry, even if that was just a coincidence. Did Iwaizumi know? What if he figured it out? Tooru panicked internally.

“Would you look at that!” He elbowed Iwaizumi with a grin, the plastic casualness of the gesture making him feel transparent. “They’re coming for our brand, Iwa-chan.”

“Well, fist-bumps are a pretty common way to react when you do something well,” Iwaizumi gave him a deadpan look. “It’s really not that surprising.”

“You’re so blasé about everything,” Hanamaki rolled his eyes again. “You haven’t said anything about Blackspot or Catastrophe all day, or yesterday when Mattsun and I texted you. Don’t you at least have a favorite?”

Iwaizumi shrugged, as he was chewing his food thoughtfully. He swallowed before he answered.

“I dunno. I think I like Catastrophe better.”

Tooru felt a surge of satisfaction, but didn’t let it show. “Oh? And why is that?”

“Suga said he was nice, when he took him home,” Iwaizumi replied. “Plus, from what I saw, he handled the situation a lot better than Blackspot. Also, I like his costume more; the ladybug getup is . . . something.”

“But have you seen those _muscles_?” Tooru gushed, unable to restrain himself. “He’s built like some kind of Olympian.”

Iwaizumi blinked at him, brow furrowed incredulously.

“Like a god or an athlete?”

“Both!”

Iwaizumi blinked at him again, cheeks turning pink at his boldness. “You’re so weird.”

The rest of lunch passed quickly, while their final two classes had never felt slower. Iwaizumi had passed him a note to let him know Suga said he could come over during chemistry, which had made it all the more difficult to focus on the difference between homogenous and heterogenous mixtures. Finally, after the last bell rang, he and Iwaizumi were the first to leave, bidding Hanamaki and Matsukawa a hasty goodbye.

*/**.__.**\\*

When Tooru knocked on the door, it was answered almost immediately. Suga looked exhausted — eyes puffy and baggy, cheeks flushed from crying, and he was dressed in sweats and a too-big t-shirt. He was still unfairly pretty, which would have irked Tooru if he wasn’t overcome with the urge to hug the poor boy, which he did.

“Thanks for letting me come over,” Tooru said, holding him against his chest and patting his back. “Iwa-chan told me you weren’t doing so well and I wanted to help.”

“You’re too kind, Oikawa,” Suga said into the fabric of his shirt. “Thank you for being here.”

“Of course,” Tooru smiled, letting him go to give Iwaizumi a turn. He watched his friend embrace Suga tightly, while Suga smiled at being in his arms. Suddenly, all the teasing remarks between each other at the bakery made sense.

“Feeling any better?” The two of them were closer in height, and so Suga raised up onto the balls of his feet to rest his chin on Iwaizumi’s shoulder.

“A little,” he answered, sighing. “I’m ignoring my email for the time being.”

“That’s good,” Iwaizumi patted him on the back. “They don’t understand. It’s not your fault, and they shouldn’t be getting on your case about it.”

Tooru startled, realizing what they were talking about. “You’re getting hate mail, Suga-chan? That’s ridiculous.”

“I know, but it is what it is,” Suga sighed, stepping aside. “Come on in. I’ll make tea.”

“Nope,” Iwaizumi immediately shook his head, like the hopelessly-in-love boy he was. “I’ll do that. You can fill Oikawa in on what happened. Otherwise he’ll ask too many questions and we’ll never get anywhere.”

“Hey!” Tooru protested, but Suga was laughing, so he let it slide.

“Okay. You know you don’t have to mother me, Iwaizumi-san,” Suga said, teasing. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know, but you’ve been doing that all day,” Iwaizumi frowned at him. “And tea won’t take long anyway, so I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared into Suga’s kitchen like he lived there, and the clanging of metal against metal let them know he was looking through drawers. Suga’s living room was neat, the walls painted a pale beige that tied together the other simple brown furnishings. This was what Tooru imagined a home to look like — the atmosphere was welcoming and forgiving. Suga sighed, smiling to himself as the two of them settled onto his sofa.

“Clearly I picked the best time and place to work,” he noted, nodding to the kitchen doorway. “I don’t know what anyone does without a Hajime Iwaizumi in their life.”

Tooru had been wondering that himself for the past few days, but he blinked at Suga in surprise. He wondered how he should ask, or if it was appropriate. Odd as it was, it didn’t seem all that preposterous. He dropped his voice to a whisper, so he wouldn’t risk Iwaizumi hearing.

“Are you . . . in love with Iwa-chan?”

Suga stared at him momentarily before laughing, copper eyes squeezing shut as if Tooru had just said a particularly funny joke. Tooru wasn’t sure how to react when Suga wiped a stray tear from his eye with his sleeve.

“No, sadly. My life would be way easier if I was in love with Iwaizumi,” he chuckled at Tooru’s shocked expression. “I’ve got the common case of ‘falling in love with your best friend,’ said friend being Daichi.”

“Ah,” Tooru nodded, realization flooding over him. So he had been wrong, and it was just Iwaizumi who was in love with Suga. This was messy. “Isn’t he—”

“Straight? Yeah,” Suga ran a hand through his hair, “as far as I know, at least. He’s never talked to me about boys. To be fair, though, I haven’t talked about boys to him either, because he’d definitely ask me what my type was and the answer would be _him_.”

“Fair,” Tooru nodded. “Is that why you were upset yesterday?”

“Sort of,” Suga leaned his head on Tooru’s shoulder, the contact oddly intimate for somebody he’d just met yesterday. He was warm, though, and his hair smelled like caramel, so Tooru didn’t mind. “We had plans to hang out later that day, and usually him cancelling plans wouldn’t bother me all that much, but he said Yui had asked him to help her out at the animal shelter she volunteers at. Daichi loves animals, so it’s not surprising, but he’s also had a crush on Yui since first year, and I think she likes him back.” He frowned. “It’s especially frustrating because I know they’d be good together and I can’t hate her because she’s so sweet. She’s captain of the women’s volleyball team at Seijou, so she’s a great leader too. I want him to look at me the way he looks at her, even if I can’t compare. Is that selfish?”

Tooru shook his head immediately, reaching a hand over to lightly ruffle his silver hair. “Of course not. I think that’s a perfectly reasonable thing to get upset over. And of course you can compare! You’re one of the most attractive people I’ve ever met; I was super jealous of how pretty you were when I first met you — Iwa-chan called me out on it. But it’s hard to stay jealous of somebody who’s so . . . I don’t know, refreshing?”

Suga laughed, and Tooru fumbled for something else to say.

“I don’t know how else to put it!” He flustered. “Your personality just makes you even better. You’re like a breath of fresh air. I don’t know how Sawamura’s _not_ in love with you, straight or not.” He raised an eyebrow. “Have you talked to him at all since yesterday?”

Suga shook his head, shrinking into himself a little. “No. He’s called, and texted a bunch, but I haven’t answered because I don’t know what to say. Plus, every time I open my messages I’m reminded of how much the rest of the world hates me.”

Tooru was already so familiar with what Suga was talking about that he didn’t have to ask.

“Hate mail is a terrible thing,” Tooru said sympathetically. “I still get a lot of it, but it’s easier to ignore now. When I started modeling at a young age it really hurt. People told me I was too skinny, like I wasn’t eating enough. They said my smile looked fake, my body disproportionate, and that I shouldn’t be modeling if I looked halfway to death.” Tooru chuckled. “Mind you, I was, but they had no business inserting their opinion on that. It hurts, and I understand how much worse it would be about something more drastic than modeling. But you can’t blame yourself for it. No matter what they say, they don’t know you, or your situation, and it’s not your fault.”

Suga was silent for a few moments as he absorbed what Tooru had said. Tooru ran his fingers through his hair again, because he seemed to like that, and waited patiently for a response.

“Thank you, Oikawa,” he said, now smiling softly. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, but it’s nice that you understand.”

Tooru felt warm. As much as he loved saving the city as Catastrophe, helping people as Tooru Oikawa was starting to become a close second. He liked helping people — he could see why Iwaizumi caught himself up in it too.

“Of course.”

“I see you two are comfortable,” as if summoned by his thoughts, Iwaizumi returned with three cups of tea on a tray, in addition to a small container of sugar. He settled on the other side of Suga, blowing on his cup and leaving the sugar to the other two boys. If there was any sort of jealousy in his statement, Tooru couldn’t find it.

“You know, for somebody who works in a bakery you don’t seem all that fond of sweets,” Tooru remarked, lightening the atmosphere.

“It’s chamomile, it doesn’t need sugar,” Iwaizumi said gruffly. “Also, sugar is good in moderation. You wouldn’t eat sweets either if you saw the sheer amount of sugar we can fit into one batch of cinnamon rolls.”

“I’d have to disagree,” Tooru replied. “I don’t think anything could deter me from cinnamon rolls.”

“Me too,” Suga agreed. “The cinnamon rolls at the bakery are my favorite, one and a half cups of sugar regardless.”

Iwaizumi fixed the both of them with an odd look before taking a sip of his (dreadfully bland) tea, seeming satisfied with the taste. “You two are so similar. I feel like I’ve dug myself into a hole by introducing you.”

“Oh, Iwa-chan, you dug yourself into a hole a long time ago,” Tooru reached over Suga to pat him on the shoulder, and Iwaizumi scowled at him in response.

“I will dump this tea on you.” He threatened, making the other two laugh. When Tooru opened his eyes and Iwaizumi’s cheeks were flushed, that confirmed it. Hajime Iwaizumi was a _simp_ , and this situation needed to be fixed, as soon as possible. Tooru was taking on his unofficial responsibility as matchmaker to ensure Suga got over Sawamura, and that dear, sweet Iwa-chan would finally get to be with his crush.

The opportunity presented itself when Suga shivered mid-conversation. Iwaizumi was on his feet in an instant.

“Do you need a blanket? I’ll go get you one—”

“I’m fine, Iwaizumi,” Suga rolled his eyes, but smiled appreciatively. “Let me go get it. I insist. If you try and do one more thing for me today, I’m kicking you out of my house.”

When Iwaizumi opened his mouth to protest, Tooru was yanking him back to the couch by the wrist, grinning impishly. He gave Suga a two-fingered salute with his other hand while Iwaizumi glowered at his constricted wrist.

“Don’t worry, Suga-chan. I’ll restrain him!” Tooru reassured him.

“Thanks, Oikawa,” Suga chuckled. “I’ll be right back. Try not to kill each other while I’m gone.”

He disappeared up the stairs, and Tooru finally released Iwaizumi from his death grip. However, he held his friend with an ever harsher stare, frown plastered on his lips.

“Come on, Iwa-chan, make a move already!” He hissed. Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow at him, cheeks going red as he rubbed the now-tender spot where Tooru had held him so tightly. He was eyeing Tooru suspiciously.

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Tooru scolded. “Your crush is so obvious it might as well be dancing naked in front of me.”

Iwaizumi sputtered, now entirely flustered.

“Excuse me?!”

“You heard me,” Tooru narrowed his eyes. He didn’t think Tooru was that oblivious, did he? “I’m sick of watching you pine like a dumb, pining _loser_ and not do anything about it.”

“Seriously?” Iwaizumi choked out. “Why haven’t you said anything? I — I didn’t think you knew!”

“It doesn’t matter, I know now,” Tooru waved his hand flippantly. “Just confess already, Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi gave him an odd look, but when Tooru’s demanding gaze didn’t relent, he took a deep breath. Tooru waited patiently as Iwaizumi stared at Tooru and formulated an idea of what to say. He was flushing like a madman at Tooru’s blunt suggestion, lips forming around wordless syllables as he fumbled for a response. Tooru was ready to offer his critiques on Iwaizumi’s practice confession, he just hoped he made it fast enough that Suga didn’t get the wrong idea. There was a sudden sharp intake of breath before Iwaizumi began to ramble, eyes looking everywhere but at Tooru.

“Shit, I don’t know how it happened, okay?!” He spoke desperately and ran a hand through his hair, movements so frantic it almost looked _real._ “I just saw you for the first time and you were so pretty that it wasn’t fair. And today really wasn’t when I was planning on telling you this but I guess it’s now or never.” His breath came shakily, knew bouncing anxiously. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I think about you every time I see something that reminds me of you. I fucking _smile_ like an idiot whenever I make anything involving chocolate because the little chocolate chips remind me of yours eyes. And you flirt with me all the fucking time and I can never tell if it’s real or not so I’ve been confused and trying so hard to hold it in but I just _can’t_ anymore, okay? I’m sorry for being so obvious, and I get it if you don’t feel the same way.”

In the silence that followed, Tooru realized he was blushing, though not nearly as much as Iwaizumi, whose entire face was red. 

“Wow, Iwa-chan,” Tooru said after a few moments. “That was like, a solid 8/10. You should make more eye contact, you know. And don’t apologize at the end, you don’t need to.”

“Oh my God,” Iwaizumi put his face in his hands, choking out a hoarse laugh. His entire neck was red. “Are you _scoring_ my confession?”

“Yes, duh!” Tooru chirped. “How else will you ever properly confess to Suga-chan?”

Iwaizumi’s head snapped up from his palms. There was dead silence as he looked at Tooru with shocked disbelief.

Iwaizumi stared. “What.”

Tooru didn’t see what the issue was, and opened his mouth to hit Iwaizumi with another chiding remark. But by then, Suga had returned with the blanket, and Iwaizumi’s face was beet red. Tooru kicked his ankle and sent a meaningful look his way, but Iwaizumi wasn’t even looking at him. He was staring at his lap, still blushing like a strawberry, and Tooru decided to take matters into his own hands.

“Iwa-chan has something he wants to say,” Tooru cleared his throat. 

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi said hoarsely, and Tooru’s heart soared with hope, only to come crashing down to the ground when he added, “I really have to pee, so I’ll be right back. Bye.”

And he dashed down the hall, probably to the bathroom. Suga stared after him, pursing his lips.

“Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” Tooru said sourly. “But he’s an idiot.”

“Right,” Suga said slowly, settling back down with the blanket. “He probably needs this more than I do.”

A brilliant thought crossed Tooru’s mind.

“You can share!” He exclaimed, grinning encouragingly. Suga shrugged, smiling mildly.

“I suppose we could.”

When Iwaizumi returned from the bathroom after a suspiciously long time, looking somewhat normal, he settled beside Suga in the blanket without complaint. Tooru felt pretty successful when they fell asleep beside one another. Despite this, he felt sort of isolated too. They were the perfect solutions for each other — where was Tooru going to fit into all of this? Would Iwaizumi still want to spend time with him if and when he and Suga eventually started dating for real?

He sighed, moving to the other side of the couch to snuggle against Iwaizumi’s arm. In his sleep, Iwaizumi immediately moved it around Tooru instead, his grip strong and insistent for someone who was snoring. It was reassuring, and Tooru melted into it.

He didn’t want to be alone again.

*/**.__.**\\*

The next akuma attack happened two days later, while Tooru was eating dinner in his room. He was brought to awareness of it when he’d turned on the news and seen his partner in anticrime swinging around and avoiding a villain who could apparently freeze people by touching them.

Expectedly, this would be difficult for his partner to handle on his own.

“Come on, Kenma, we’re already late!” Tooru quickly took note of the location on the television before turning it off and rushing up to the roof. Begrudgingly, his kwami followed behind him, hardly keeping up with the quick pace he’d set. Only when he was sure nobody was outside or watching did he transform, leaping to the street below as he did. The air rushed around him wildly as he leapt from the roof, plummeting to the ground as he started to change. If Kenma wasn’t currently infusing him with his kwami magic, he would be scolding Tooru for his recklessness, but Tooru didn’t care.

The feeling of falling was so exhilarating, and when he caught his fall with his staff on an empty street, he couldn’t help but laugh to himself at how amazing it had felt. It was good to be Catastrophe again — being Oikawa was too tiring, too boring, too much, and still yet not much of anything. Catastrophe, however, was a _hero_ , somebody to look up to, and he was going to make the city proud.

He had to get to his partner first, though.

He reached the location a few minutes later, making brief eye contact with Blackspot as he was swinging away. He extended his staff, giving Blackspot an anchor to swing around the corner and land beside Tooru on the roof of a building behind a wall of concrete.

“Sorry it was me who was late this time,” Tooru said apologetically.

“Don’t worry about it,” Blackspot smiled at him, still a little breathless and flushed from the chase, and it was an awfully lovely sight. “I’m just glad you’re here. The villain is a man in his mid-thirties, I think — he’s an attendant at the convenience store down the street. Must have had a busy day, because all he wants to do is put people on pause.”

“Well that’s unfortunate,” Tooru remarked. “I’m terrible at freeze tag.”

This earned a laugh from Blackspot, who grinned and patted Tooru on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry, I’ve won enough games for both of us,” he winked. “And if we play our cards right, we might not even have to use my Lucky Charm until we have to reset everything. You see that clothing store, down there?”

As Blackspot began to detail the plan to him, Tooru nodded along, listening but also simply admiring his partner’s existence. He didn’t have to worry about being lonely, because he’d always have Blackspot here to save the day alongside him. He obviously couldn’t replace Iwaizumi, but he was another aspect of Tooru’s life that he couldn’t imagine living without, now that he had him.

Their meetings seemed too short, despite the thrills of defeating the villain in between. Tooru wanted to talk to him more, to get to know him, but there was only so much he could explore.

The next akuma came on Saturday, and Tooru was displeased to find that this time it was another boy in his year with the power to . . .

“Mime things?” Tooru stared at the boy driving away on an invisible motorcycle.

“Yeah, but only one thing at a time,” Blackspot seemed equally bewildered. “That’s a step down from last time.”

Tooru waited for him to elaborate as the two of them shook themselves out of their initial surprise and chased after the boy. However, there was no explanation. Instead, they moved forward in silence, practically above the invisible motorcycle at this point. Blackspot squinted.

“Can you tell who it is yet?”

“He looks like another third-year high school student,” Tooru replied, doing his best not to give himself away. If he gave Terushima’s name, he’d reveal himself as a student as well. “Maybe from Seijou, because it’s the closest.”

He looked hopefully for some reaction from his partner, but if anything his features only clouded further.

“Somebody should really teach these kids how to deal with their feelings,” he said.

Tooru snorted, doing his best to mask his disappointment. “What are you, an old man?”

“Nope. Can’t even drive,” Blackspot chucked.

“You could be eighty one and not be able to drive,” Tooru said pointedly.

“Exactly. I’m not giving myself away that easily.”

Tooru scoffed.

“You’d better not be eighty one. I’d rather not have a crush on a senior citizen, thanks—”

He only realized what he’d said when Blackspot turned his head and stared at him, eyes wide. _Shit, he hadn’t meant to say that out loud._ Not only that, he hadn’t come out to anybody about liking men. Sure, he didn’t exactly hide it around his friends, but his teasing remarks never grew past anything that would be considered more than, well, teasing. This was mostly to keep his image in the face of the public, and because he wasn’t sure how to approach the topic in the first place, but now that he was really just a stranger behind a mask, it was easier.

Would Blackspot judge him, though? He knew that people were rather conservative in their thinking, and though Blackspot showed him kindness at all times, it was a still a subject he should have been more careful about approaching. Blackspot didn’t seem to block Tooru off, though, instead he looked puzzled.

“You have a crush on me?”

“Yes?” Tooru tried to play it off, like it was a casual thing he had absolutely, _definitely_ meant to say aloud. “And here I was thinking I was being obvious.”

“But we’ve only known each other for six days,” Blackspot’s eyes were flicking between the villain they were trailing and Tooru, his cheeks slowly going rosy. Tooru laughed, though it came out strained because his heart was beating _way_ too fast.

“So? What can I say? It was infatuation at first kick-to-the-stomach.”

Blackspot probably would have laughed, if he didn’t look so confused. He didn’t seem annoyed, or disappointed, which was a good sign, but he did look profoundly bewildered, like Tooru had just told him he was going to join the circus as a sword-eater.

“I’m really sorry, Catastrophe, but I don’t — I’m not —” his partner stammered, cheeks nearly matching the color of his suit. Tooru could sense the rejection coming, and so he interrupted before the actual words could come out and stab him through the chest.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” he smiled. “After all, we’re heroes first. I wasn’t expecting you to like me back, anyway.” When Blackspot still seemed worried, he added, “I’m okay, I promise. I’m not going to break down in tears when I get home either.”

This seemed convincing enough, or maybe it was because Terushima was getting away, because Blackspot returned most of his focus to the chase ahead. His eyes met Tooru’s again after a few moments when they rounded the corner. He cleared his throat, gaining his attention.

“It’s not you,” Blackspot told him insistently. “It’s just . . . I like somebody else.”

_Oh._

He wasn’t really sure what he was expecting, especially after just knowing the boy for not even a week.

“You’re incredible, and I really couldn’t ask for a better partner,” Blackspot tacked on, eyes telling Tooru his words were genuine. A small smile came to his lips as he added, “you have questionable taste, is what I’m trying to say.”

Tooru scoffed.

“Is it really that hard to believe?”

Blackspot shrugged.

“I’ve only had one girl confess to me, and all my friends flirt with me as a joke,” he explained. Tooru’s mind wandered to Suga and Iwaizumi, who he’d been working hard to set up the past few days to little progress. One remark about Iwaizumi’s arms from the silver-haired boy had sent him into a stammering mess — Tooru could feel how tense he was when he’d run his hands over his muscles when teasing him about it.

They were so dense, the both of them.

“You’re sure? Maybe they’re all madly in love with you,” Tooru suggested, wiggling his eyebrows. Blackspot snorted.

“Nah. Most of them are in love with each other, but they’re really stupid about it.”

Tooru chuckled, thinking of his own friend group at Seijou.

“Sounds about right for mine too.”

After a few moments, when they’d finally cornered Terushima, Blackspot looked at him again.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yep!” Tooru chirped, despite the slight ache in his chest. “Besides, you’re right. We haven’t known each other long enough. Maybe you’ll fall in love with me at some point.” He punctuated this with a wink. “Now are we going to go take care of this miming menace or what?”

After taking care of said menace, Tooru remembered to ask Blackspot what he’d meant about things being “a step down from last time.” Before Tooru had blurted out his accidental confession and turned the conversation in a completely different direction. Blackspot explained, and Tooru admired the way his expression was concentrated as he puzzled together a theory.

“It might be too early to draw this conclusion, but it seems like these villains are supposedly leveling up in intensity, right?” He said. “It’s like whoever’s making the akumas is trying to limit the amount of collateral while increasing the powers of the villains. They’re probably somebody in a position of power.”

“Huh? Where’d you get that conclusion from?” Tooru asked, shuddering as he thought of all the powerful people he was connected to. He didn’t want to believe it. If what Blackspot was suggesting was true, Tooru had probably shaken the hand of the Monarch at one point or about her unknowingly.

“Your average criminal wouldn’t give a damn about wrecking the city, but somebody who has put a lot of time, money, and investment in it would certainly care. Maybe there are certain people they want to keep safe.”

“Like associates?”

“Associates, businesses, family,” Blackspot speculated. “We should observe which places the villains stay away from. I know we haven’t really seen much of them yet, but as the weeks go by, it could give us a lead as to where the Monarch might be located.”

Tooru nodded. As much as the idea made him nervous, it was a solid plan. He didn’t like the idea that somebody he knew could be the head supervillain terrorizing Tokyo, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a possibility.

“You’re so smart, Spot-sama,” Tooru sing-songed, though the compliment was genuine. “Whatever would I do without you?”

“Have better taste in men, probably.”

“Ouch,” Tooru said, but he laughed, and Blackspot laughed along with him. He was relieved. Their dynamic hadn’t changed — they’d fought just as well alongside each other. He felt it was easier to accomplish what he needed to, now that his feelings were out in the open, and Blackspot hadn’t shunned him for them.

That didn’t stop him from whining to Kenma when he got back to his room, though.

“I can’t believe I just confessed on accident,” he groaned, flopping face-first onto his bed. “What was I thinking?”

“You weren’t,” Kenma mused. “But that’s nothing new.”

“So rude,” Tooru picked his face off to mattress to stick his tongue out. He rolled onto his back, sighing dramatically. “And here I was, about to go get you some apple pie for your hard work this week.”

Kenma’s eyes lit up, though he was visibly trying to suppress it because he knew Tooru was watching.

“I haven’t had any all week,” Kenma said dejectedly, and Tooru caved.

“I know, I know,” he smiled, sitting up and slinging a hoodie over his t-shirt. “I made a promise, and I intend to keep it. Come rest in my pocket — we’re going to see Iwa-chan.”

Kenma rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, and Tooru rested his hands in his pockets so neither Kenma or his wallet would fall out. The hall outside was dark, the only light being the fading sun coming from the windows. It was around 6 pm — he hoped Iwaizumi wasn’t eating dinner with his family. He’d hate to intrude on that.

There was a sudden whirring noise from the living room, and Tooru froze in place. Somebody was in the elevator, which lead to the lower floors filled with employees from his father’s company. Oikawa tower was the headquarters of Pavilion, with their penthouse at the very top. The employees didn’t live there, but there was office space, work/design space, and studio areas for shooting on the other floors. The employees weren’t allowed into the penthouse without permission, and they couldn’t reach it without a special card anyway, so there were few people it could be.

When the doors opened, Tooru could recognize the sound of the footsteps, and he blinked several times in surprise.

“Hey, dad,” Tooru said, masking his confusion with the blocked-off expression he typically used with his father. Usually, his dad could be found in his office — he even ate meals there, and when he needed to talk to somebody he would call them there — so what he had been doing out of it was beyond Tooru.

“Tooru,” his father greeted him with a curt nod. He noted Tooru’s clothing and looked back up at him. “Where are you going?”

“To visit Iwaizumi,” saying his full name out loud felt alien on his lips, but he wasn’t about to say ‘Iwa-chan’ in front of his father. “Do you want anything while I’m out?”

“No, thanks,” he said, and apparently he thought that was enough, because he turned and disappeared into his study without another word. Tooru grimaced to himself, fists clenching involuntarily in his pocket as he proceeded toward the elevator.

“Wait, actually—”

His father froze in his tracks, as did Tooru, expectantly. He wasn’t sure why he was so hopeful — maybe expecting a “stay safe” or a “don’t stay out too late.” But instead, what his father asked was even more surprising, if not slightly disappointing.

“Ask Iwaizumi if he’ll do a shoot for us.”

Tooru sputtered. “Huh?!”

“I know he doesn’t have experience, but he has the right body type for the jackets we’re launching next week,” his father continued, either oblivious or unperturbed by his shock. “We’ll pay him. If he declines, we’ll pay him more.”

And those were his parting words, as he finally disappeared into his office and closed the door behind him, leaving Tooru in the parlor with his jaw hanging open. His father always did what he wanted, got what he wanted — it was the Oikawa way — but Tooru couldn’t fathom why he was so insistent on _Iwaizumi_. There were plenty of actual models with his body type that would trip over themselves for this company, so why?

“Tch,” Tooru muttered as he left the penthouse, entering the same elevator his father had just come out of.“He could have just told me my arms were too skinny and moved on with it. He didn’t have to bring Iwa-chan into this.”

“Your arms are fine, Oikawa,” Kenma said from his pocket. “Muscles aren’t necessary for someone with a miraculous.”

Tooru snorted. “Right. I could kick Iwa-chan’s ass any day if I wanted to — regardless of how much he benches, which is probably some ridiculous amount.” The image of Iwaizumi laying on a bench, shirtless and dripping with sweat while straining his arms swam around in his head a little bit before he put it to rest. He probably shouldn’t indulge in that thought when he was about to go visit him at work.

The chime of the shop doors welcomed him in. Tooru was only slightly disappointed to see Iwaizumi’s mother at the register instead of him. The two of them got along well, and enjoyed exchanging embarrassing stories about Iwaizumi when they were with each other. 

“Tooru-kun!” She exclaimed, grinning when she saw him. “Hajime’s upstairs — he’ll be down in a second. You’re a bit early for his shift, so feel free to sit somewhere and wait, if you’d like.”

Tooru nodded to her, smiling back. “Thank you, Iwaizumi-san.”

Tooru pulled out his phone and started to text Iwaizumi, wondering how to tell him to hurry up in the most annoying way possible.

  
**_6:43 pm_ **

**iwa-chan!!!**

**guess who came to  
visit (๑˃̵ᴗ•)✌︎  
**

_  
iwa-chan (ง'̀-'́)ง: 6:43 pm: _

**it’s like**

**dinnertime**

**you can’t have milk bread for**  
**dinner, shittykawa**

**says who ˋ3ˊ**

**what are you, my mother?**

_ iwa-chan (ง'̀-'́)ง, 6:44 pm: _

**...**

**it’s okay, you can laugh.**

  
_ iwa-chan (ง'̀-'́)ง, 6:44 pm _

**im not going to laugh at your**  
**dead mom jokes.**

**rude, iwa-chan.**

“I would disagree.”

Iwaizumi stood in front of him, holding his phone in one hand with the other in his pocket. Tooru brightened up, jumping out of his chair and not hesitating to wring his arms around him.

“Jesus, you’re acting like you haven’t seen me in years.” Iwaizumi awkwardly returned the hug, patting him between the shoulders. He smelled good, like he’d just come out of the shower. Now that Tooru had backed up and taken a proper look at him, his hair was fully flopped over his forehead. It was sort of cute, when it wasn’t all spiky.

“Did you just shower?”

“Yes?” Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”

“Huh.” Tooru let out a little puff of amusement, reaching forward and brushing Iwaizumi’s hair out of his forehead. It was still slightly damp, and soft beneath his fingers. “Why do you spike it up all the time?”

He only realized he’d been practically petting it when Iwaizumi grabbed rough hold of his wrist, face flushed with irritation.

“It gets in my face otherwise,” he said gruffly. “But clearly I shouldn’t bother, because you do enough of that anyway.”

Tooru grinned, wriggling out of his grasp. “What are friends for?”

Iwaizumi scoffed, crossing his arm over his chest and wrapping his other over it in a stretch, trying not to look too deliberately at his arms. Tooru remembered his father’s request, but decided to breach the topic later.

“What are you here for anyway?” Iwaizumi asked, clearly on a different agenda.

Tooru pouted. “Can’t I visit my best friend without a reason?”

“Of course you can,” Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. “But it’s dinnertime. My moms taking off to go cook. Aren’t you hungry?”

“I’d rather be here with you than eat cup noodles alone in my room,” Tooru shrugged. Iwaizumi frowned. He pondered something for a second before he looked back at Tooru.

“Wanna stay for dinner?”

“Huh?” Tooru blinked. “Sure, but—”

“Here, let me ask my mom,” he turned over his shoulder before Tooru could get another word in, walking back to the counter. Apparently he and Tooru had very different definitions of asking, because it was more of a rushed declaration if anything.

“Ma, Oikawa’s staying for dinner,” Iwaizumi told her as he brushed by into the back room. She scoffed at him, undoing her apron.

“A heads up would have been nice,” she said to him. Tooru felt bad, but she didn’t seem irritated with him at all.

“Like you would say no.” Iwaizumi returned with an apron hung around his neck, tying it behind himself. “You like him more than me anyway.”

“Yes, because Tooru can mind his manners,” she scoffed. She was much shorter than her son, but somehow more intimidating. “I don’t know who raised _you_ like some barn animal, but it certainly wasn’t me.” She then finished taking off her apron, hanging it up in the back room before returning. She approached Tooru from behind the counter, smiling sunnily as if she hadn’t just been snapping at her son.

“How does curry sound? I hope that’s okay with you.”

“Anything is okay with me, Iwaizumi-san,” Tooru bowed slightly, smiling politely back at her, despite his nerves. “If it’s a hassle, I really don’t have to stay—”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous!” She scolded, though fondly. “I’m always happy to have guests to cook for. Hajime and his father aren’t appreciative enough of my cooking.”

She clapped him on the back and set off toward the stairs leading to their apartment. Tooru watched her go with a smile. It was nice, having people care about you. He still felt like an outsider, but slowly he started to feel that he was fitting in.

He’d been really lucky, running into the locker room that day.

“Are you just going to stand there?”

Iwaizumi was sending him an amused sort of look as he leaned against the back counter, arms folded over his chest. Tooru rolled his eyes, but moved to stand across from him anyway.

“You really didn’t have to make your mom cook for me,” Tooru leaned across the counter to flick him in the nose. Iwaizumi watched him, going slightly cross-eyed as his hand grew closer before his finger finally made impact.

“She’s always excited to cook for new people, and you heard her — she likes you better than me anyway,” Iwaizumi replied. “She lied, though. Dad and I do appreciate her cooking — she makes the best curry, and that’s just a fact of life.”

Tooru chuckled at this. “I’m looking forward to it, then.”

The last time his father had cooked for him had been years ago. Their personal chef usually made their food for them, but Tooru typically ate alone. Even when his mother was alive, they didn’t all eat together most nights, and when they did, they didn’t talk much.

“Do you all have dinner together every night?”

“We try, but my dad’s usually at work pretty late,” Iwaizumi shrugged. Then, peeking up a little, he added, “give me a warning, next time, and I’ll cook for you.”

Tooru scoffed. “You’re the one who invited me!”

“It’ll have to be a time when I’m not working,” Iwaizumi hummed, ignoring him. Then, he added, “do you want to get anything? The amount of milk bread we’ve had to produce just because of you and your fan girls has gotten ridiculous.”

“Actually, do you have an apple pie?”

It was an innocent enough question, but Iwaizumi stared at him as if he’d grown a second head.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, slowly, his movements strangely hesitant as he moved toward the display case. “Is it for anybody?”

“No, just for me,” Tooru lied, wondering why Iwaizumi found it so odd that’s he’d order something other than milk bread. Actually, now that he thought about it, it was a little unexpected.

“You’ll just want a small one then, right?” Iwaizumi held one of them up, and it laid atop his palm. It was larger than his hand, but not by much. Tooru could almost feel Kenma’s head nodding enthusiastically in his pocket. Shit, Kenma would have to wait longer for his food now that he’d been roped into dinner with the Iwaizumi’s.

“Yes, please,” Tooru felt like he was sweating, even though his neck was dry when he nonchalantly scratched it to check. Surely Iwaizumi would be less weirded out the more Tooru asked for apple pie — it was his fault for waiting so long to get some. He decided to take some of the tension out of the air by returning to his normal teasing self. “Why’d you ask who it was for? Jealous I might get one for one of the girls? You know I can’t show favoritism.”

“No,” Iwaizumi fixed him with a glare. “I thought you might have a little sister or something that you don’t talk about.” His look changed when he cocked his head to the side, eyebrows furrowed curiously. “Do you have any siblings?”

“Yeah, actually, but I’m the youngest,” Tooru explained. “My sister is nine years older than me, somewhere in Paris I think.”

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow.

“You think?”

“Yeah, she doesn’t talk to us much,” Tooru shrugged, “though I can see why,” he added darkly.

“Ah,” Iwaizumi said, understanding so Tooru didn’t have to elaborate. When he spoke again, his voice wasn’t rough or forceful. It was inviting, open-ended. Tooru didn’t have to answer if he didn’t want to, but he still gave him an opportunity in case he did.

“Has he always been—?”

“Yeah,” Tooru replied before he could finished. “He keeps to himself most of the time.”

“How long has he been working like this?”

“He and my mom used to both be co-owners and CEOs of Pavilion. They started the business when they were pretty young — twenty-five, I think. They were both brilliant entrepreneurs interested in fashion and that’s how they met. They worked together to grow this company ever since then, but after my mom passed my father now has double the work.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Iwaizumi frowned, empathetic. Tooru liked when his voice went soft, because it was a reminder that underneath all the insults and the irritation that his best friend really cared about him. “What was she like? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“She was very kind” Tooru said, eyes wandering around the bakery. He didn’t talk about his mother often, and thinking about her was making his eyes start to water. “Gorgeous, too. It runs in the family, you know.” He was spurred on to continue by Iwaizumi’s snort of amusement. “She was really smart, and always explained things to me when I didn’t know much about them. She was really interested in birds — she pointed out all the different types to me and she designed a lot of clothes based on them.” Tooru remembered the times he’d caught her in her office, sketching, and she’d show him how the patterns on dresses and shirts were reminiscent of winged animals. He sighed, blinking back the weight behind his eyes.

“She liked things that flew in general, I think, like dragonflies and bats and butterflies. I think she admired their freedom, or longed for it. She felt stuck in the business, I think. She worked hard too, like my dad. It’s an Oikawa thing, I think. We’re all hard workers, to the point where it kills us.”

When he looked back to Iwaizumi, he was watching Tooru carefully, now within arms reach across the counter. The two of them were alone — most people didn’t visit bakeries at seven in the evening — so Tooru could cry into his shoulder if he wanted to. But he wouldn’t, not now, at least. Not while Iwaizumi was looking at him like he was about to break.

“What is it?” Tooru scowled, he wasn’t weak, damn it. “Spit it out.”

“Do you know how she died?” Iwaizumi asked, quietly. “You don’t have to say, I know it’s not my business—”

“Reckless driving,” Tooru said shortly, feeling like he was trying to prove a point, eyes suddenly fixated on his shoelaces. “She was coming home from a conference in Sendai and it was raining so she was trying to get home before it got worse, but she hydroplaned and ended up crashing on the shoulder.” He took a deep breath, startled that it was shaky. “It was quick and sudden, so she didn’t suffer. I — I only found out when my dad called while I was at Ushijima’s house. My father had been distant ever since she left for the conference anyway, and apparently they’d argued beforehand, because she’d left without saying goodbye. But after she died was when he really started to shut himself away in his work.”

It took him a strange amount of effort to lift his head back up, probably because of the wetness on his cheeks, and so he stayed staring at the ground for a while until he could feel Iwaizumi’s hand on his shoulder. He didn’t resist when Iwaizumi pulled him closer across the counter, so Tooru’s tears could soak into his shirt. Damn it, he’d done it now.

“I know that was probably a lot to talk about,” Iwaizumi’s hand was now resting at the back of his head. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

_Thank you for sharing that with me._

Not “I’m sorry for asking” or “it’s okay, I didn’t mean to make you cry” or “I’m sorry for you.” Iwaizumi knew that’s not what Tooru wanted to hear. He knew it was going to hurt, and he wasn’t apologizing for opening the wound again. With his face against Iwaizumi’s shoulder, his hands stroking the back of Tooru’s hair with all the intention and care Tooru had ever wanted, he could feel the wound starting to heal properly. Much faster than it had before, like telling Iwaizumi all that he’d been holding in was the ointment on the wound that he’d previously lacked.

“You’re still going to be friends with me?” Tooru sniffed. “You’re not gonna leave because my family’s all fucked up and depressing? Because _I’m_ all fucked up and depressing? You’ll stay, right?”

“What? Of course I will,” Iwaizumi pulled him away from his chest, each of his hands on Tooru’s shoulders. Though Tooru was taller, he was hunched over slightly so that his eyes were at the same level as Iwaizumi’s stern, compassionate green ones. “I like the way you are, fucked up or not. I think you’re an amazing person, no matter how many times I tell you otherwise. I hate when you’re upset but I like when you talk to me about these things. The last thing I want is for you to feel like a burden to me, okay?”

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru choked out, feeling absolutely shattered. He wasn’t sure what else he could say, but it took him a moment to realize he was smiling. He could feel his lips tugging up, taste his own tears on his lips. Iwaizumi was smiling back at him, eyes soft and patient and serious, like all he could ever need was right in front of him. Even without words, he never failed to make Tooru feel special.

He couldn’t help but reach back across the counter for another hug, now wiping the tears from his face with his sleeve.

“You’re so cool, you know that, right?” He told him, feeling considerably lighter. “It isn’t fair. You’re way cooler than me and I still get all the girls.”

Iwaizumi snorted. “Don’t be an ass.”

After Tooru pulled away a second time, they stood in silence for a moment. Tooru got his bearings while Iwaizumi retrieved his apple pie from the oven, where it had been keeping warm. He raised his palm over it, shook his head, and then put it back in.

“I’ll just leave it in until after dinner,” he said simply, closing the oven door once more. There were a few more moments of silence before Tooru felt relatively back to normal. He was still a little embarrassed that he’d cried in front of Iwaizumi, but it didn’t seem like his view of Tooru had changed. He wasn’t treating him like he was delicate, or looking at him as though he might fall apart at any given moment.

“Why did you ask so much about my family anyway?” Tooru questioned.

“I like getting to know you,” Iwaizumi shrugged. “Besides, you know mine, and I haven’t even met yours.”

Tooru snorted dryly, deciding to bring up his father’s request. “Well luckily for you, the opportunity just arose. My dad wants you to come model for us.”

Iwaizumi stared for a few moments before he started to laugh, his grin remaining on his face afterward.

“Sorry, what?”

“That’s what I said,” Tooru smirked at his reaction, his mood lightening as he feigned shock. “‘Iwa-chan’s ugly face promoting our line? That’s ridiculous!’ But he was insistent, and maybe they’ll cut off your head in the photo, anyway—”

Iwaizumi reached across the counter and yanked on Tooru’s hair. Not hard enough to really hurt, but enough to make him let out a small, surprised yelp. When Iwaizumi let go, he looked at Tooru smugly as he massaged his abused scalp.

“Mean, Iwa-chan,” he murmured.

“I’ll cut off _your_ head, asswipe,” Iwaizumi threatened in response.

“Oh no! Iwa-chan’s gonna cut my head off—” Tooru started to say sarcastically, until the bell chimed go signal that a customer had arrived. Tooru stepped out of the way while Iwaizumi helped the man who had just come to the counter. Iwaizumi brought him two loaves of some kind of bread, the man paid, and then left as soon as he came. Tooru retook his place at the counter, grinning.

“So what do you say?”

“I’ll think about it. Being stuck in a stuffy room with you to take photos really doesn’t sound like the most appealing way to spend my day,” Iwaizumi side-eyed him, and Tooru stuck his tongue out. _I’ll think about it_ was a better response than no, so Tooru decided he’d take it.

Dinner was ready about half an hour later, and the bakery closed so that the two of them could go upstairs and eat. It was a little awkward at first, but he was able to ease into the atmosphere within a few minutes. The food was even better than Tooru had thought, and he made sure to let Iwaizumi-san know after he took his first bite. He and Iwaizumi’s mother took turns teasing the poor boy, who was bright red from embarrassment by the time dinner had ended. He must have enjoyed it, though, because Iwaizumi was smiling when he walked Tooru home.

“You were right, that was the best curry I’ve had in my life,” Tooru sighed happily, stretching his arms up into the warm night air. “Thank you for having me.”

“Any time,” Iwaizumi shrugged, smiling at him. There was something in his eyes that Tooru couldn’t quite place, but it made his cheeks feel hot and his gaze return to the path ahead of them. Tooru decided not to mention it, because he liked the comfortable silence they’d fallen into.

Tooru was back in the elevator after a prolonged goodbye, because he hadn’t really wanted to go. He started to open the apple pie, but told Kenma to wait until they got back to his room to actually eat it.

“If Iwa-chan wants to get with Suga-chan, he really needs to stop flirting with me,” Tooru smiled fondly, reminiscing over an hour ago when they were cleaning up after dinner.

“Trading insults isn’t flirting,” Kenma made a face at him from his sweatshirt pock. Tooru snorted.

“Standards of romance have probably changed since your last owner,” he replied. “Insults should be considered a love language.”

“Ugh, don’t tell Kuroo I’ve been flirting with him. It’ll feed his ego,” Kenma said, disappearing into Tooru’s pocket as the elevator chimed open. The parlor was dark, as expected, and Tooru didn’t bother to turn on the lights. He felt his way toward his room and turned on his lamp before settling into bed, finally allowing Kenma to eat his favorite food.

“Sorry for the wait,” he said as Kenma dug in. “I’m sure you were starving.”

“It was torture, but I didn’t really mind that much,” Kenma said, taking another bite. “I was just glad to see you so happy, for once.”

Tooru beamed. “Aw, so you _do_ care about me!”

Kenma rolled his eyes, but he didn’t deny it. Tooru took a self-satisfied sigh and collapsed back into his bed, his clothes being too comfortable to bother changing out of. Sleep came fast, which was unusual, but it was almost like the warmth of the Iwaizumi household had followed him home and tucked him in. When he woke up the next morning, the pie was gone, and Kenma was asleep on the pillow next to him.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Iwaizumi’s confession scene was so funny but so painful to me at the same time. Tooru Oikawa (age 17) verified dumbass is doing his best, but he can’t help how stupid he is.  
> About Terumi — I lowkey love her so much. I wanted to give Iwa’s opposite love interest more of a personality than just being his opposite love interest, so I did. Shes really talented and hardworking like Oikawa, but she keeps to herself because none of her friends could really keep up with her at her level of talent and she’s afraid of making new ones because most of her old friends abandoned her. She likes Iwaizumi so much because he didn’t abandon her and she feels comfortable around him, along with all of the other reasons why Iwaizumi is best boy.  
> Prepare yourselves for an absolute disaster in the next chapter — in the way that it’s hilarious, of course. Thank you for your kind kudos and feedback! You all are so great and I’m sending much love to all of you <33!


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